Scourges of the Sorrowmaker
by Mieper
Summary: Azeroth was never a very peaceful place between demon, old gods and its own warring inhabitants, Now, another outside force has set its sights on the riches and powers of this world, recruiting its own followers. This story acompanies said followers in their quests of both offical and personal nature. Its time for a few regime changes... AU, also contains elements from Pathfinder
1. Prologue

AN: I (sadly) don't own anything except my OCs. Have fun reading.

* * *

Prologue

The glow of the lava lighted the massive cavern, dimmed by the smoke emerging from the very same molten rock. For millenia, the obsidian sanctum under the Wyrmrest Temple had been a quiet place, untouched by the wars above, for it was still protected by treaty as the garrison had not broken said treaty yet.

Sartharion, warden of the sanctum and one of the few wyrms of his kind still alive, had stayed out of the war for now.

Yet these times were over as soon as he saw his "reinforcements".  
Mutated in both mind and body, the two twilight dragons were a terrifying sight, fully grown despite beeing only a few years old at best. They had introduced themselves as Theralion and Valiona, but had made no effort to hide their contempt for their official superior and spend their time now with petty strife and a neverending stream of insults.

This was enough. Sartharion was aware of the corruption of his flight, although he did not know how had evaded the same fate. He knew that he had to do something, but had been to scared to actually act.

 _As long as I stay out of this, I can protect the eggs down here_ , he had told himself for years, yet he could no longer ignore want happened directly in front of his eyes.

This was the last straw, mutating mere whelps into beast of war was more than the conscience of the old warden could handle. From the moment they stepped through the portal from Grim Batol, Sartharion had planned his move, hiding in plain sight, using the contempt direct against him to act without fear about his plot beeing discovered. He even infused himself with twilight magic, it felt terrible and took weeks to avoid corrupting his own body and mind, but he would need any and all scraps of power he could get. Now, as ready as he would ever be. It was time to put the plan into motion.

They were arguing again, the subject trivial and merely another pretext to hurl insults and threats at each other. They were so caught up in their quarrel that they failed to sense Sartharion as he approached them. These whelps should be the weapons to conquer the world? They were wyrms physically, but while their minds were more developed than normal for their age, they were still whelps, untrained, undiciplined and both paranoid and violently unstable due to the corruption of their. Sending these children to war would spell a disaster, no matter how powerful they might be.

When Valiona and Theralion finally noticed his arrival, they wasted no time to establish their superiority.

"If that isn't the old fool who thinks he is still in charge here. It would be a cute sight if it was less disgusting", Theralion hissed.

"Even you are right sometimes, brother. Can you see how he tried to absorb twilight magic? He even tries to steal from his betters! Have anything to say about that, old fool?", Valiona said, smiling maliciously.

Sartharion didn't answer. Instead, he took a step forward, grapped Valiona's horns with of front claws and smacked her head against the cavern floor. Her body slackened, and she collapsed with a dull flop.

Theralion managed to show a scornful grin, just as Sartharions mace-like tailtip hit him in the temple, knocking him out too.

"Lesson one on guarding a vital location: Be on guard, you idiots!",  
Sartharion growled as parts of his tention faded.

The warden examined the unconsious body with his magic sight. The intricate webs of magic that covered any inherently magical creature was the host of the corruption , about a dozen disgusting, pulsating tumors of old and alien magic in each of the two body. Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared his own magic. It was time for invasive emergency surgery, a prospect that scared the warden conducting it just as much as it would scare the patient...

* * *

She opened her eyes, but the world didn`t macke sense. Her last memory consisted of heat, rage and pain, the blurry image of something ripping her apart. Yet here she was, lying in what appeared to be a small cave, in her mortal form, free from any pain.

No pain? The realisation took a moment, then she looked down upon herself. The scars were gone, as if they had never existed, and the constant, burning agony was gone too.

As where the voices.

Whar had happened? This was a positive change, but something like this would certainly come at cost of equal magnitude.

She rose up from the ground, finding herself weak and berely able to stand, her vision blurry from the simple act of standing up. As her vision cleared somewhat, she saw that she was not alone. Had the person in front of her just arrived?

She didn`t know and cared even less. Disgust about being found in such a defenseless state turn to fear and fear turned into rage as she hurled a fireball at the person. The spell however was just as weak as she was currently, the flames never reached the target. Then the drain kicked in.

Sintharia managed to take a single step back before her vision faded to black.

Memories filled her unconsciousness with terror. Grim Batol, the experiments on the stolen eggs, the first twilight dragons. How could she have done this? Why had she obeyed the voices in her head? There was no escape, no way to get away from the horrific scenes.

"You got a spell of immediately after getting back to life. Unsurprising, but still quite impressive. I hope you recover quickly,"

The somewhat gruff voice began talking exactly as Sintharia woke up up. She was now leaning at the wall of the cave,close to a small fire, and someone had wrapped a blanket around her. The owner of the voice sat on the other side of the fire, an old man with white hair and beard, clad in simple grey robes. There was nothing overtly threatening about him, but his mere presence and his apparent knowledge about her death and ressurection scared Sintharia more than she would ever admit.

The old man sensed her fear, in spite of all attempts to conceal it, and switched to a nicer tone.

"Forgive me, I forget my manners at times. My name is Azarneth, and I brought your here in the hope to establish mutual benefical relations with you and your followers. My companion prefers to introdice himself."

With these words, another figure stepped out of the shadows and kneeled down close to her. A very handsome man in fine clothes and halfplate armor. The fact that he had been so close to her without beeing noticed spoke volumes both about her weakened state and his ability to stay unseen. Sintharia was still trying to cope with her living again, so she didn't react till he took her hand and placed a light kiss on her fingers.

"Vlad von Carstein", he introduced himself with a very soft, pleasent voice. "I'm glad to meet you, mylady, but you have to excuse me for now. Other preparations have to be made."

Vlad rose again, and, after taking a single step back, vanished into the shadows.

Sintharia shifted her gaze back to Azarneth, leaving the state of shock as she slowly accepted the thought of beeing alive oncemore.

"You have questions that I can answer," Azarneth broke the silence again.

"Ask what you want to know."

It was true, questions were in no short supply. Once again trying to supress all sighs of distress and forcing a semblance of order in the chaos of her mind, Sintharia took a deep breath.

"How long was I dead?"

"About two years."

"Who are you, exactly, and what do you actually want from me?"

"I came here and found a world full of power and wealth, both ripe for the taking for those with the will and the ressources. As for you, was and I am still hoping to get a mighty ally. You surely know quite a bit about this world, and you have the mind and the power to back that up. Our goals should be compatible, and you owe me atleast something for the ressurrection."

"You're evading the first question: Who are you?"

"I serve a high power from outside of Azeroth, and you have to understand that I can't reveal any details without beeing sure that you are truly on my side."

Sintharia needed another deep breath. The vague aura of terror taht surounded Azarneth made sense now, if he truly was a creature from a world far away.

"What do you think to know about any goals I might have?" she asked, not trying to hide the suspicion in her tone.

"If I were you, I would probably try to save those of my kin still controlled by the corruption that I fell victim to. I am also certain that you have a few personal scores to settle. Its a simple deal: You help us, which would mean to assist Vlad in his mission here on Azeroth, and once that is done, you'll have our full support for the rescue of your people."

"And what happens if I decline your deal? This hole situation looks a lot like the classic "offer you can't refuse"."

"Well that truly hurts", Azarneth said in lamenting tone, "but jokes aside, you can leave if you want. As long as you stay out of our way, you have nothing to fear."

Sintharia took her time to consider her limited options. It was fairly clear that Azarneth had planed this, and while she didn't have any detailed plans to save her flight, doing so was still her duty. If assisting those two in their plans to receive their support, could easily be worthwhile. If Azarneth brought her back to life, which was likely enough, he was anything but a pushover. And this might very true for his companion as well. Without any other plans, she had nothing to lose and great allies to win. If you looked at it this way, the choice was not to difficult.

"Fine, I'll do it, as long as you uphold your end of the bargain."

Azarneths neutral expression changed into grin, a grin that showed too many and way too sharp teeth for an old man.

"Thats the spirit! Vlad will tell you the plan. All you have to do is ensuring that this plan suceeds. I have to go now, stay safe." Abruptly rising up, he hissed the words of a spell and vanished in flash of light.

As the cave fell silently except for the fire, Sintharia began to think about her past again, and regretted it. How many of her friends and family were dead? Neltharion was still insane, Onyxia and Nefarian had been slain, the remaining flight scattered and decimated. And her own crimes, things a sane creature would maybe see in the grip of a nigtmare. How had she been able to do this?

When Vlad returned a few minutes later, a package under his arm, he found his new colleage still leaning against the wall, wrapped in the blanket and staring into the flames. It was a scene he knew to well, the sight of someone reliving something that haunted them, miles and years away but still brathing down your neck. But despite the tragic situation, Vlad could not help himself to see that she was a very beatiful women, raven hair and ivory skin worthy of the midnight aristcracy. Yet he also knew about the remarkable danger posed by this beeing, no matter how fragile she looked now. He approached with caution, quiet enough not to disturb her, but obvious enough to aviod unfortunate implications.

"I suppose it is time to go now, right? So, what exactly is this great plan of yours?", she said and stood up, her voice sharp and cold, the kind of voice that could either tripple the rate of a heart or make it stop, depending on context and intention.

Vlad looked at her for a moment before shifting hs gaze to the wall.

"You might want to get dressed first. Lord Azarneth left this here for you", he said coyly.

Sintharia through a glance down at herself: It was true, she was naked. She cursed under her breath, this lack of perception was an embarrassment on her part. She could probably blame the situation and the fact that her species didn't wear clothes in their true form, but it was still a pityful display.

 _Shame won't help you, idiot,_ she thought to herself, stepped forward and took the package. Vlad politely turned around as she opened it. The content of the package consisted of a very fine set of clothes: underwear, a pair of riding boots and a fashionable, yet practical dress, as well as heavy, fur-lined coat. She got dressed with all haste, feeling somewhat calmer afterwards.

"You can turn around now", she said after she tried the coat. Comfortable, but too warm for these temperatures.

Vlad turned around, and she noticed how he moved with a certain, unnatural grace, another hind that he was not as human as looked.

"Mylady, I must say that your beauty is something to behold", he said and bowed slightly. "Please follow me, our horses are ready."

"They will have to wait a little longer. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what ee are supposey doing", she hissed.

Raising an eyebrow, Vlad took a step back in playful gesture of capitulation. "He didn't tell you? Of course he wouldn't, that part is left for me", he muttered under his breath before switching back to his serious, formal posture.

"Our mission, mylady, is to infiltrate the forces of the Alliance meant for the upcoming war against the source in Northrend, get to the front, and kill the Lich King so I can take command over his forces."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"My apologies, but how is this supposed to work at all? Even if we manage to get into this army to attack Northrend, how are you of all people going to to take over the scourge? There we be others in the line of sucession, even if Arthas doesn't kill us, his minins would finish us of!"

"Please, mylady, defeatism doesn't suit you, and we have not begun yet. According to my sources, you are an old wyrm, with all the benefits that come with it. I'm no stranger to battle either, so get a hold of yourself. I thought dragons were proud and confident. As for taking the throne, leave that to me. Trust me, I know how to get at the head of an undead army. Now please, let us move out. Time is not too limited, but it shouldn't be wasted."

A sigh was he got as they left the cave and stepped into the woods outside. It was warm, but not hot, early summer in Elwynn Forest if Sintharia had to guess. Two horses were bound to tree, just a few meters from the entrance.

"Why the inflitartion part?", she asked, jumping into the saddle.

"If we just go attack the scourge on our own, we fight fresh enemies on their home terrain. Beeing a part of an ongoing campaign should ensure that both the scourge and its foes are too battered to react in a swift and decisive manner to stop us. We might even manage to get some influence or intel from the inside."

"So we are not only planning a hostile takeover of an army of hundreds of thousands of undead , but also to spy on the inner workings of one of the largest and most dangerous organisations in the world? Your confidence is either well founded or highly foolish."

Vlad grinned as he turned his horse to the west. "I'm not only selfconfident, and I'm not alone. With you by my side, mylady, what could go wrong?"

About ten minutes later, they reached a road travelling from the south to the north, although neither of them recognised it. This seemed to be no concern for Vlad, who merely turned his horse north before riding on.

While the ride continued in silence, the minds of both riders were everything but quiet, as they through glances at each other, trying to find out as much as they could without actually asking. An approach with little sucess for both.

"What's in it for you?", Sintharia broke the silence after a while, "Your master seemed to have great ambitions, but why follow him and risk your own skin when be is not even here?"

"Why would I not enjoy it?", Vlad asked and smiled, "A dangerous mission, a beautiful lady at my side and no meddeling oversight nearby. Its like in an old story. Where is your sense for adventure?"

He smiled again, but it never reached his eyes. As ye turned back forward and the hooves on the road became the only audible sound again, Sintharia had the time to observe Vlad some more, with few possible conclusions.

 _H_ _e is haunted by something. Pretents to be cheery and naive, but sits on that horse as if every minute this ride is a trip him through hell. Whatever he has seen, it wasn't pretty._ _  
_  
Yet there was also a lot of anger in her mind: Towards herself for her past actions, towards Vlad and his master and their insane plans, and even more the Alliance. Why did the plan of her new "friends" have to include the faction responsible for the death of her oldest children? She would need all her will to resist the urge of burning down anything remotely related to the Alliance. If this was Elwynn Forest, then how much damage and how many casulties could be the result of a massive, sudden wildfire? An intriguing thought indeed...

An hour later, they both heard the rattle of a wagon approaching them from the north. The vehicle came into view, a simple two-wheeled cart, driven by a man dressed like farmer and heavily laden with hay. Vlad could do the talking, it was hard enough for Sintharia to keep herself from blasting vehicle and driver to pieces. Vlad didn't know that, but luck was on the farmer's side as the vampire took the initiative, riding ahead to greet him.

"Greetings, good sir, could you perhaps help a foreigner in this realm?"

"Sure. What to you need?", the farmer said, confused that a man of clearly noble bith would address him in such a manner.

"I need to know if this is the right road to get to Stormwind City."

"Yes it is, although getting there will take another two or three days."

"Thanks for your help," Vlad said handed the driver a gold coin. "It is appreciated."

"The next few miles might be pretty slow in your direction. Some noble blocks the road, his carriage has a broken wheel and his guards can't repair it properly, it seems. Took me half an hour to convince them to let me past, these buffoons..."

"Can you tell me who the noble in question is?"

"I don't know. All I can tell is that his banner shows a brown boar and a yellow background."

"Did you say a brown boar and yellow background?!", Sintharia aaked suddenly, her voice icy cold and full of unconcealed hatred, her eyes burning with the fires of hell. "Are you absolutely sure?!"

"Y-y-y-yes ma'am", the farmer said, reeling back in terror, but Sintharia didn't care to care about anything after the yes. She jumped of her horse and began to shift into her true form, ignoring all potential consequences. Both her horse and the carthorse panicked immidiately, and Vlad only managed to control his mount by suppressing its mind with a spell. The transformation itself was sight to behold: First, wings and tail tore through clothes, which in turn merged with the skin to form the adamantine-hard scales, while horns shot of the skull and nose and mouth turned into the the massive reptilian snout, its jaws filled with dagger-shaped teeth and fangs like spears.

The raging dragon roared her fury into the sky, before taking of and rising before diving down on something out of sight. Whoever this noble was, he had surely made some bad choices.

"This could have been avoided, but I can't afford any witnesses", Vlad said as he drew Blood Drinker. The farmer was still stunned with fear as the blade slashed through his chest, bisecting his torso and splattering blood and gore in a wide arc. Vlad strengthened the spell which kept his mount under control as he charged towards the sound of the carnage up north.

Soon, the sound became clearer: Gunfire, breaking metal and screams of fear and pain. Two riders fled in his direction, a moving as fast as their terrified mounts could run, both hunkering down in the saddle. They saw Vlad when we was less than twenty meters away, too close to react in any meaningful way. With hissed spell and a sharp crack, barely audible over the roar in the distance, two ray of magical force hit the riders, searing through flesh and shattering armor and bone. Both dropped dead from their steeds, who didn't react as they continued the paniced escape.

Flying felt great. A simple sentiment, shared be nearly all creatures with functional wings and a few without them. Inspite of all circumstances, this thought crossed Sintharia's mind as she soared above the forest. Her target, the coach with the banner of the Borgwen family and its escort came into view, guards scurrying to their defensive positions. It was laughable. The three dozen guards might be considered overkill by many, but were a mere inconvinience for the kind of attacker they faced now.

The Borgwens, a noble family from Stormwind, had found their fortune again a few years back, when it seemed like the house would fall into obscurity. Using the remains of their wealth, the family had backed several guilds of mercenaries, guilds that returned laden with loot. But they had brought not only money. Dragon scales were goods that fetched high prices from both mages and various rich collectors. And so the house filled its coffers with the remains found in Blackrock Spire and the Dustwallow Marches.

The old, insane Sintharia had cared not for the fate of her children and grandchildren, but her sanity had brought the old love back. This old love had ignited the flames of hatred and was still adding more and more fuel to the fire. All the ones responsible would pay, if they were not dead already. The Borgwen family were merely the first to meet their fate.

She filled her lungs as she charged towards the carriage. At about a hundred and fifty meters, she exaled all air stored in single, short blast of dragon's breath, a cone of fire that swept forward the engulf guards, terrain and the vehicle alike. Everything but the coach was simply evaporated, from the dirt between the cobblestones of the road to the armor of the guards. The coach itself prevailed, protected for now by a spell worth a small fortune, but it would delay the inevitable rather then prevent it.

Under normal circumstances, Sintharia would have noticed the blue and black colour of her flames, the colours of twilight fire. She had learned how to use this kind of magic during her experiments, but she had never been able to use it naturally. Yet a mind filled with rage cared little for such details.

Roaring again, she swooped over the flames, landing on the other side of the inferno between the remaining soldiers, her tail knocking the coach over to the side. A few crossbow bolts and bullets ricochet of her scales as she put he claws to use, scything through steel, bone and flesh equal ease as horses and riders were splattered across the area. Nothing here could withstand a wyrm's fury, and no portable mundane weapon was capable of harming such a being.

As the last guard dropped to the ground, torso cut in three pieces, his blood mixing with that of his decapitated horse, Sintharia shifted her burning gaze back to the crashed vehicle.

Another, longer burst of fire broke the remains of the protective spellwork and turned the wreck into a bonfire. The screams from the inside died quickly.

Sintharia roared in triumph. The death of her targets may have been to quick, but they were suffiencently painful. The first step on the road of vengeance had been taken, more might follow soon.

But without a new focus, a new target to incernerate, the maddening rage disappated as soon as it had appeared. And while the sight of dead enemy bodies was surely pleasent, the implications of the massive fire and smoke cloud were not good in regards to an infiltation.

 _What have I done?_ , she thought, _guess I can forget all notions of help, if my allies don't kill me._

She turned back into her mortal form, nearly invisible within the chaos of flames, smoke and carnage. Yet as she did, her vision blurred once more. Her last conscious thought was a curse towards her post-resurrective weakness.

* * *

Vlad in turn cursed the fact that he knew so little about this world. When Azarneth had recruited him from his own aftelife, he had infused him with the memories of a professor from Azeroth his master had killed for this purpose. He was now well informed about history and the major power blocks of this world, as well beeing fluid in the common tongue. All his was well and good, but not helpful in finding a hiding place in enemy territory. So he improvised, simply picking up the unconcious body of his companion before racing down the road. He The more distance between them and the massacre, the less likely the autorities would make the connection.

The wonders of mind control magic kept the horse going, overriding any renognition of exhaustion. Two hours later, the sun already sinking , a building came into view, an inn if its looks were not deceptive. A sight for sore eyes in the woods.

They had closed the distance to maybe fourhundred meters when the horse finally collapsed, panic and fatigue tanking their toll. With no time for ceremony, a quick spell turned the body to dust, removing one burden.

Holding his unconcious companion in his arms, he walked the remaining way while assuming a posture and expression more befitting of a man who just ran for his life.

The looks he got from the staff as he entered the building indicated sucess for this approach.

"There was a monster attack in the woods! I need a room look at the wounds of my lady NOW!", he yelled at the woman behind the counter and backed the words with a hypnotic stare.

"Of course. Take the stairs on the left, all rooms are free.", the woman said, conviced by both the mental domination and the blood that covered them both.

"Thank you", Vlad said as he carried Sintharia up the stairs. The room was not exactly luxurious, but it would suffice for the time being. He locked the door after he laid Sintharia on the bed. She had no obvious injuries, the cause of her state was likely that he had yet to recover from the strain of resurrection, which would be even worse since she was not undead. Yet still, he had to pretent to take care of her supposed injuries. At least, he could wash of the blood.

Necromancy and his vampiric nature made this task easy, atleast one positive sidenote on a day which could rtghtfully called a bloody mess. Literally. After muttering the words of the next spell, he watchted as the blood began to hover out of their clothes in crimson drops, leaving no trace behind as it gather in larger, hovering sphere. Vlad took a chalice out of one of his bags. Most of the blood would end in one of the blankets to keep the illusion going, but why waste it all?

Sartharion signed as he sat down on the cavern floor, exhausted but sucessful. It had taken for straining hours to get the corrupting magic out of Valiona, another three for Theralion, and if the way they had twitched during the procedure was any indication, it was a most painful experience. They had to awake yet, but Sartharion had bound them to the floor anyway, shaping shackles out of solidifying lava. Even though the influence on their minds was now hopefully gone, there was no excuse for a lack of precautions. Both of them were a danger, maybe moreso as they should now be able to correctly examine danger, and while Sartharion was one and a half times their size and had the experience and knowledge of countless millenia, he was still outnumbered and had yet to see full extend of the power of twilight magic.

They twitched in their shackles, probably reliving what few memories they had, but without the lense of insanity, these memories would now be recognised as something straigbt out of the nightmares of a maniac. Sartharion would have liked to spare them this, but there was nothing he could to aside from protecting their physical bodies.

The other guards of the sanctum had been send away, under the pretext that he, Sartharion, a beeing of his status, had no use of blind and deaf fools in a task that was already beneath him. It had hurt to talk about his holy position in such a manner, and he had almost doubted his own senses a the request was acknowledged. The situation outside had to be even worse than expected if such apparent narcisism and arrogance were considered acceptable and even normal by now.

After feeding and a few minutes of well-deserved rest, Vlad took the stairs back down. Another group of guests had now arrived, a merchant and a bard by the looks. Vlad took a seat at the counter, seeing the same woman behind it as before.

"Thank you for taking us in", he said with a winning smile and handed her a few platin coins. "We thought we were done for."

The bartender's eyes widened as they met the shimmer of the money.  
"You could buy this house for this kind of money. I can't accept this"

"Yes you can. Please, since we have no other option to repay our debts, take at least some cash. And if you would feel guilty otherwise, I take a bottle of your best liquor aswell."

"Sure", the bartender answered and handed him a bottle. "This is our best stuff, but you could still buy a hole barrel for such a sum."

"I take two bottles in that case"

The bard walked over to the counter. "Do you know something about the fires in the south?", he asked, his voice brimming with morbid excitement.

"Some sort of giant monster. I didn't see it and I didn't want too. But it was big, swift and roared like an artillery battery. We barely made it, but someone else was less fortunate: We heard screams and the sounds of a fight between the roars."

"Those poor souls! However, this is great stuff for a new ballade! The Beast of Elwynn Forest!"

This caused the merchant to shake head. "Forgive my foolish friend, his fascination for beasts and monster makes him both socially unbearable and will be his doom." He turned towards his friend. Can't you see that this man barely escaped the beast alive? Other people might react a lot worse to this sort of comment. He turned back to Vlad. "Thank you for staying calm. The last guy he spoke to like this beat him into pulp."

"Worry not, if it is true that he likes beasts and monsters, he will enjoy his fate, which is more than what many poor souls can say about their end. Although he really should be more polite regarding strangers who fled form a monster", Vlad with a glare towards the bard said and stood up. "Forgive me, but I have to return to my companion."

As he looked at the sleeping Sintharia again, he felt like a dagger stabbed into his heart and twisted afterwards. When he had first seen her, he had, for a moment, thought that the spells cast by Azarneth had failed, that the spells had brought Neferata to this world instead of the person intented. And now, in her unconcious state, she looked just like Isabella had looked before he had been forced to turn her.

Isabella. In the more then four hundred and fifty years had been dead, he had a no shortage of time to think about her. The conclusion was simple: Isabella had never had the strength to cope with undeath. The new found power had made her cruel and vicious, without any of the insights that immortallity usually provided. His love had made him blind, and no matter how obvious the conclusion was, it did nothing to ease the pain.

He cursed himself again. Five millenia old and he was still not over his first wife. What a pathetic display for a beeing with his experience and abilities.

He opened the first bottle and filled his chalice once more. The alcohol would not effect his undead physique, but the taste and the memories of his living days were still somewhat calming. He filled another chalice. It was time to wake up his companion. No matter how strongly she reminded him of his lost flames, she still owed him an explanation...

* * *

Valiona awoke, not knowing how much time had passed. Her head still hurt from the impact on the cavern floor. Her dreams had left her with nothing but an empty feeling of horror.

Where was that bastard Sartharion?!

She tried to get up, realising only now that all her limbs were covered with stone.

 _Lava. He has poured lava over me and it hardened while I was unconcious. The old lizard surely knows some tricks_ , she thought to herself.

Yet at the same time, she no longer felt her previous contempt for him. She felt no small amount of anger for the way he had treated her, but aside from that, all she felt towards him was fear. She looked over to Theralion, bound the floor in the same way she was. Again, her emotions made no sense: No hatred and no disgust, instead, she only felt an instinctive sense of compasion for her brother, an emotion she had never had before. In the same weird way, her brother's presence was now atleast a little comforting. As she made eye contact with him, she saw that he felt the same. They had always been able to see each others feelings, that was why they always fought, both constantly sensing the disgust and paranoia towards each other, the same paranoia and disgust that filled the mind of every creature in the grasp of the old gods.

Neither of them had ever heard of the old gods, but both felt that their previous emotions had not been truly their own.

Both looked around, tying to move as little as possible while seeing as much as possible. But there was not a lot to be seen. The central chamber, where they still were, was empty save for them and Sartharion, who was pacing up and down on the main island in the lava, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. The gates to smaller chambers, where the eggs were kept, were sealed as always, covered in protective spells which only the warden could lower with resorting to brute magical force.

Again, they made eye contact, and both knew that they shared the same thought:

What had they gotten themselves into here?


	3. Chapter 2

The smell of whiskey awoke Sintharia from the confused mess of her nightmares. The nightmares seemed to twist and changed constantly, leaving only an empty feeling of dread an sadness. When her eyes opened and she found herself lying in a bed, she initially thought the last day to be just another weird dream. However, the faint smell of blood from her clothes and hair were proved this to be a wrong assumption. As the did the look on Vlad's face. He was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and while he made no overtly threathening gestures, the care with which he made even the smallest move showed his barely controlled wrath, his eyes glowing in a faint red. He had held a chalice of liquor under her nose, which he now handed to her.

"Milady, you have to explain yourself", he said in a low growl. This change from his normaly soft voice and the fact that was still weak as a small kitten after waking up made Vlad way scarier than she thought he could be. "So, do tell me please, why you turned from an apathic, zoned out state into burning rage in a few seconds and without warning. I must also ask you to never do so again.", he continued, now back to his usual tone.

This unerving politeness. Yelling and cursing were something to be expected, but the combination of the polite request in this soft voice and his murderous glare gave Sintharia the creeps, atleast in he current state.

She steeled her nerve, as a lie was unlikely to get her very far. So the truth would be the better, if unpleasent, option.

"The coach belonged to the Borgwens, a noble family from Stormwind. They got rich by backing mercenaries who killed two of many children, and many more of their children. I don't care if the corruption justifies this, I just made them pay. As form your request to abstain from such actions in the future, I'm not sure if a can honor it, should I encounter some of the other ones responsible."

The words had their effect, Vlad's expression softened. He sighed.

"Fine. I can't really judge you for this, and I don't think you're lying. He sighed again. "Just inform me beforehand the next time, and try to be more discreet in your approach."

"You're not going to kill me for blowing any chance at subtlety?"

Vlad looked concerned now. "No", he said slowly, "I don't believe in killing your allies for understandable mistakes. I would trust you less if had stayed completely calm in this situation. And as far as I know, our cover isn't blown. All immidate witnesses are dead. We just need to keep our heads down for a while, and avoid repeading the same mistake."

"Thank you. I didn't think you would tolerate my actions", she said, feeling as if a massive weight was lifted from her shoulders. "How long will my weakness last? I'm no help if I pass out very few hours."

"A few days at worst. Living beeings don't take ressurrection well."

"What are you then? You rever to living beeings as if they were another group of species."

"You are paying attention. Good. As for what I am, well, I'm undead."

"Should have thought so given your plan for the scourge. I have to admit that you don't seem to be very similar to your average undead."

"If you're saying that I don't look and smell like a rotten carcass, thank you milady."

"You don't need to call me that. You brought me here without sliting my throat." She too a sip from her chalice. "This is good stuff."

"Only the best available for us. Since we do something dangerous, we should still enjoy it as much as we can."

"Where are we currently?"

"In an inn still somewhere south of Stormwind, about two hours of paniced ride north of the site of your massacre. We should reach the within the next day. Our flight up north has gotten as very far in very little time."

"Does it have to be Stormwind? Could we not join the forces of the Horde?"

Vlad hesitated for moment. "I'm not sure", he said slowly and took another sip from his drink. "I don't think the horde would be a better option. The nearest large horde base is... Undercity, I think?" Sintharia nodded and Vlad continued.

"That makes it even worse. Is my kind of undead even native to this world. I don't think so, and this would raise question we can't answer without betraying to much. And while I'm confident in my ability to blend in with humans, I can't play an elf convincingly and I have to ask if you can plausibly pretent to be undead, and how we that we travelled straight through miles of Alliance territory without getting into trouble or spying for someone."

"You doubt my ability to play an undead? That could be considered an insult."

Vlad grinned and showed his fangs. "You would be suprised. It is very difficult indeed to disguise oneself as an undead, mylady. But I'm eilling to take my chances. If you can convince me in the next two days that you are up to the task, the plan will be adapted."

He looked out through the window into the now nighty sky above the trees. The fire down the road had died down, the night seemed peaceful in contrast to the day before.

"If you excuse me, mylady, I will retire for night, as you got your sleep already."

"I told you you don't have to call me "mylady", she said. "Its not like your serving me".

In return, she got another faint smile. "And you have not told me your name yet, so I can't call you anything else either without being rude."

Sintharia felt embarrased again, a feeling she loathed with every fibre of her beeing.

"My name is Sintharia. Sorry for my lacking mind for basic social interaction."

"It's alright, but you'll have to forgive if I switch back to the title sometimes."

Sintharia snorted. "Worry not, the use of an honorary title will not result in your incerneration."

Under her watching gaze, Vlad began to cast an alarm spell, covering window, door,and even the walls before he sad down, back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

As he fell asleep, Sintharia got back to her task at hand. If a convincing disguise would entail a change of plans, then the answer was: Challenge accepted.

She began her work, a set of spells changing skin, eyes and, in the most complex spell, her voice, into sometying mre befitting for the living dead. Of course, she would not transform into a rotting zombie. What good was shapeshifting if it was not used in a comfortable way? The beeings whose form she would take were the best the Forsaken had, the dark rangers of the Banshee Queen . The enchantments worked as intended: Her skin turned into a muddy shade of grey, her eyes flared red and her voice would be a snake-like hissing if used with the intent for a low volume, or booming and distorted if it was to reach far. With the the frame work out if the way, it was no time for the details...

As she resumed her spellwork, she saw how Vlad began to move, clearly caught in his own nightmare. His hand had turned into claws, his mouth was opened, showing his fangs, and made a hissing sound like a large, angry cat. But the was nothing she could do, his movement was unpredictable and these claws, while puny compared to those of her true form, were quite dangerous for the mortal shape she had currently assumed.

It was time for another spell along the protective ones. To properly show of her work, she wa ted no listeners from outside. The spell would make sure that things said in this room would stay here...

* * *

 _The city has fallen, and now it is burning. There is nothing I can do to against that. The armies have failed, both the living and the dead one. The only way out is to flee, which is exactly what I'm doing. Down from the temple quater, avoiding the main roads. The air is filled with smoke, and its a good thing not to be breathing. My clothes and my armor a already torn to shreds, but the battle outside the walls won't be the last bloodshed this night. No matter how hard I try, I can't avoid all of the attackers. The patrol stands in my way. Bad luck for them. There is no hesitation. I charge in and stab the tip of halberd through the chest of the first man. Piercing a chestplate like this is a feat of clearly inhuman strength, but who cares? Its not like the vampirism in the lahimian elite is a secret anymore. Thanks Neferata, thanks for sacrificing everything because you can't take a rejection. Dodge, step back, stab, slash, step aside, parry. The fight sends me into a trance, atacking and defending purely on instinct, paying no actual mind to the whole affair. As I cut down the last foe in reach and return to running, my thoughts circle my wife. When had she reached the point of no return in her descent to madness? How could I have stopped it. Was her condition reversible? If so, how? Questions I can't answer. I run into more soldiers. More soldiers die. I might not be a fighter like Abhorash, but normal mortals are still no match. Lucky me. The city wall is near. It was a turbulent time in Lamiah, but it is time for me to take my leave. I run further, stumbling into another group of plundering invanders. As I cut through them, I can wonder what became of Neferata. I still love her, despite the desaster. The last time I saw her, she was carried to the harbour by a few of the remaining loyalists. She should be able to handle herself. A building behind me collapses unter a catapult projectile. More flying rocks are coming in...  
_

* * *

When Vlad began to awake, she made her move, taking the most regal pose possible, staring down on him as his eyes opened.

"Greetings, lord von Carstein, are you ready to correct the course of our journey," she said, eyes flaring even brighter and her voice booming.

"Good morning to you to", he said as he rose up. "You really chose to try your luck and your skills here, didn't you." He began to circle her, staring at any detail of this modified form. Beeing stared at like this didn't exactly feel nice, but this was a necessaty.

"You're good, very good even for a first try", he proclaimed his judgement as he was back in front of her. "Very good work on the skin and the eyes, th voice could use some work though. If you still use your mouth to form your words, the distortion is a little to much, but it is fine if your voice was purely a product of magic." He took a step back and hiw expression turned very strict. "And yet you have forgotten two very important details and maybe even a third, details that must not be overlooked under any circumstances, details that you have to do right instinctively. You are not fit to disguise yourself as a Forsaken!"

* * *

Azeroth could be quite the nice place if you were able to keep the dangers at bay. This was something to be enjoyed rather them skipped. At least, this was the opinion in his mind as Azarneth decided not to teleport himself directly to the Dark Portal. Instead he he chose to take a walk through the woods, taking in the fresh air and listening to the sounds of the forest.

He took his time, spending hours without any haste. However, while he had nothing to fear from the inhabitants of the woods, not all creatures could sense the danger he could pose. Bears and wolves knew from their instincts that there was on prey for them, even if the being in question looked like an unarmed old man. The brigands, however, were a different story.

The robbers lurking along the roads had very few options. There had been little travel this year, and those who did travel did so in large groups, armed to the teeth and willing to use those weapons. A lone wanderer was a target they could not afford to ignore. It was suprising how many of the few lonely travellers carried wealth with them, oblivious to the danger of doing so. And even the normal travellers would usually have at least some money. Some robbers would simply peper their victims with bolts and arrows, but those tended to have shorter lifespans. Those who let their victims go were usually considered not to be worth the effort to exterminate.

It was the latter kind of gang who set their sights on the lone traveller. About a dozen brigands, some of them seasoned veterans, they knew not to take chances. Eight crossbows were aimed at the old man, while their leader took two men with him to confront the target. The remaining bandits were to look out for any sign of further trouble.

Azarneth was aware of the ambush long before it was ready, but stayed his hand. Since was no threat, it might be an interesting way to spend some more time. At least, it would feel good to show your own superiority towards those who tried to bully you. Petty, of course, but amusing nontheless.

Winston Underhill, the brigand leader, stepped out of the bushes, followed by Henry and Matthew. The old man seemed unbothered by this.

"Hold right there! This is a robbery! Hand over all your money and other items of value and you will not be harmed!"

The old man chuckled, making everyone else uncomfortable both through the sound itself and his lightheartetness in face the situation.

"This is great! A brigand who knows how to behave! I thought all those had died long ago. It nice to meet you, however, I have reason to believe that you are misjudging the current situation. You see, I'm not the one in peril here. I could annihilate both you three here and your friends in the woods without much effort. But I won't. It would be a shame to destroy something so rare."

Winston felt as his heart turned into a chunk of ice. The old man showed nothing but complete confidence, seemly sure that he could deliver on that promise. Either he was a rather good actor, insane, or one of the few people who spoke the truth when making such claims. There had been similar cases, one of the other gangs had tried to rob a woman who had turned out to be a member of the Argent Crusade and promptly slaughtered eight of her attackers before escaping the ambush.

So he hesitated, his left hand clutched around the double-barreled pistol in his left hand, currently still hidden in his coat, wondering in which category his victim fell. He had no desire to face someone properly dangerous. In the worst case, the old man would be a wizard or something of the sort.

"I see that you are clever enough to consider the situation rather than trying to get a rushed strike at me. I like that, however, I have to continue my way. Take this for your troubles and remember your manners", the old man said with a wicked smile, showing a lot of razor sharp teeth as took a purse from his belt. "If anyone were to ask about someone like me, I was never here", he said as he stepped forward and handed the purse to the stunned Winston.

"Don't worry about this to much, we all see a lot of things we don't understand, don't know and don't want to know." He padded Winston on the shoulder before continuing his way. None of the brigands attempted to stop him.

Winston opened the purse, revealing several well-cut gemstones the size of a human thumb. He gathered all his courage as he turned around.

"I'm glad to have met you sir. If you ever need men with our set of skills, you'll find us. I'm sure the pay will be quite good."

The old man answered without turning. "I will remember you, and I might get back to your offer once I return."

Then he left, the brigands returning to their camp to count the best bounty in their combined careers.

* * *

 _Other eyes looked at the world, eyes nearly as old as time and burning with both desire and hatred. The burning gaze of the watcher pierced the clouds, receiving the world from high above, far higher the even the best flyers could reach. Now the the owner of these eyes watched the world, searching for those in his service. They were found, and their progress was found wanting. To much attention would lead to failure, however, if this attention would be directed somewhere else, this problem could be made to disappear. And the watcher knew how to make that happen. Restraining oneself was a very useful skill, but unrestricted fury had its own advandages. One always had to play the right card in the right situation._

 _The watcher took his time considering all options. Reliable followers were already in place, but there were rarely enough. To gurantee sucess, more would be needed. And these new ones had to be locals, for no others were available. The ones in place would have to recruit the most, but the watcher was willing to assist where possible. Surely not all locals were immune to the offers of wealth and power? Time would tell, time and at least some testing. The struggles of those who tried to resist the temptation were something the watcher found endlessly amusing, while respecting both those who resisted and those who knew how to strike a favorable bargain._

 _Malicious laughter filled the suroundings of the watcher, causing the underlings nearby to throw nervous glances at each other. They new the the watcher's moodswings and sense of entertainment. The future would be entertaining indeed..._


	4. Chapter 3

AN 1: I will try to publish slightly longer chapters, which will probably take some additional time. Please keep reading and reviewing. And have a nice day.

AN 2: Any guesses on the true identity of the watcher yet?

* * *

Azarneth was still enjoying his stay in the woods when he felt the presence of the watcher closing in on his mind. He made sure there was nobody in the immidiate vicinity, before answering the call of the being he served for the last two thousand years.

 _ **The new recruits have caused a disturbance. A distraction for the Alliance forces might be necessary to prevent detection.**_

Despite been only a telepathic manifestation, the voice of the watcher was still nearly as terrifying as it was in person. Ancient, seething with evil intent and sounding like bones cracking in a fire.

 _I will ensure that the correct measures are taken, your majesty_. was his only answer. The watcher's presence withdrew as quickly as it appeared.

Azarneth cursed in a language his seemingly mortal tongue should not be capable of speaking. After some consideration however, his opinion on the matter changed. If you looked at it in the right way, this was great opportunity to bind enemy forces...

Azarneth chuckled as he continued his way towards the portal that connected Azeroth and Draenor.

* * *

"What? I spend the entire night to come up with this new shape, and now you're saying its all for nothing?" Sintharia made no effort to conceal her frustration.

"It could be handy in the future, myl- excuse me, Sintharia. Should we ever need to blame the Forsaken, this form should be good enough to fool non-experts. Or anyone if you keep your distance." Vlad used his voice expertly, soothing and reasuring at the same time. It didn't work as well on a wyrm as it worked on the majority of mortals, but it did work well enough.

Sintharia sighed. "What did I do wrong?"

Vlad returned to his examination mode. "First, you are still breathing, something most undead don't do because they don't need to. Your chest moves visibly, at least for those who know where to look. The movements can be concealed by thicker clothing, but the air still flows. Which brings us to your second mistake."

He grapped her hand. "Your body temperature is way to high for kind of creature your pretending to be. I would go so far as to say that it is unusually high even for a human. Again, gloves could solve the problem on the touch, but your breathing out warm air, which will be visible in the cold of Northrend."

Another sigh was all he got for an answer.

"As for the detail I'm not sure about, that would be your blood. If you were injured, would your blood be properly tainted by necromantic energy?" Vlad showed a shy smile. "If you were someone else, I would simply perform a small cut on your hand to find out, but I don't have a deathwish."

His last comment put a little smile of her own on Sintharia's face. It felt so good to command at least some respect, even from someone she barely knew.

"Isn't it time to go?"

"If you feel well enough, yes. But please be honest. You're right about unconcious people being useless."

"I'm mostly fine", Sintharia growled, still both unsettled and angry about her bad state. If she would not get better very soon, she was worried for mental state and the physical state of anyone in close proximity. Yet anger and insecurity would not get her any further. _If you can't be strong, try to be smart,_ she reminded herself. _And if you ever get the chance, remember that those two are not mutually exclusive._

She rose up from the bed, careful at first, but her confidence returned as no sudden weakness overcame her. _As long as avoid properly straining activities, I should be fine._ At least, Sintharia hoped so.

Vlad stayed close to her as they both took the stairs down into the guest room, seeming ready to catch her and keep her from falling at every step. And while such care was charming in a way, it was deeply upsetting for Sintharia that such precautions seemed necessary to him. Her pride did not take this well at all. _But in times of need, pride is a terrible advisor_ , she reminded herself oncemore. It was better to take unneeded help then to deny necessary assistence.

When they arrived in the main room, the tavern owner was most suprised to see them both apperently unscathed. And as any person would, she wondered how this had come to pass. The lady had been covered in blood the other day, and while the knight had said that we care for her wounds, there were no bandages or anything of the sort to be seen.

"I take it you're part of this argent crusade or whatever it is called?" she asked, knowing that the right amount of gossip was good advertiesment for her tavern.

The response she got was most curious. The knight simply stared into her eyes, and her vision began to blurr. She in turn began to forget... what?

Sintharia was watching the scene with great interest. As an archmage in her own merit, she knew a bit about mind control, having emploed spells of the sort for the schemes whispered to her by the voices. However, such a spell beeing used only via eye contact, without words of power or an item of sorts was a sight to behold. She knew that Vlad had to be a capable magic user, as he wore plate and could still use his talents seemly unbothered, yet magic controlled only by tbe mind was rare and dangerous. The human, probably the owner of this hut, stared blankly now, devoid of all intelligence.

"This won't hold very long, but it will make her forget about us", Vlad informed. "Let's get out of here."

Back on the road, it was time to move northwards once again. They stayed close to the trees, ready to jump into cover at any moment should the need arrive.

And soon it did.

A cavalary formation came towards them high speed, Alliance banner high above the dustcloud surounding their mounts. The same dustcloud and the helmets they wore impeded their vision enough to allow both Sintharia and Vlad to dash into the woodwork.

The riders charged last them, clearly in great hurry. After a few minutes, when the dust had settled, they continued their way in silence. No need for words: Both of them recognized an emergency response team when they saw one. These were truly bad news...

General Hubert Borgwen raced down the road, leaving his men to disappear in his dust. He had heard that some sort of monster attack had occured here, on the road his family used to travel on the way back from their woodland estate. His parents and his sister had yet to return, and the veteran in him already knew what that meant in this situation. But he had to find proof, of for his own soul and his other sister who had just joined the army too. The family celebration had just been a week ago...

The priests in his unit used their divine powers to keep everyone halfway fresh and the mounts in descent condition. If the current speed could be kept up, it would take several additional hours to get to the site of the reported incident. Yet already at this time, Hubert vowed vengeance to those responsible, whoever they might be.

When the burned scar in the forest came into view, Hubert knew that the reports had been correct. He knew the sight all to well: Bodies in armor torn to shreds by a monster stronger than any creature should be allowed to be, the rest incinerated in fire hot enough to vaporise flesh and melt steel to the point were it was as liquid as water, all in a blink of an eye. He had been in Duskwallow. He had seen and survived the fight against Nefarian on the top of the Black Spire. This bore a striking resemblance to the massacres at both these accursed places. Tears filled his eyes as he stared at the wrecked coach and even without checking, he knew that there were no survivors to be found.

* * *

At roughly the same time, the Dark Portal came into Azarneth's view, after he had decided to shorten the way via teleportation. He could not understand why it was named like that, after all, its fel magic had a bright (green) colour. But this trivial detail would not distract him from his mission. This was the first time in months for him to use the full extent of his magical abilities, and he looked forward to do so.

He stopped about half a mile from the gate and reached out to all mana available, both from his own body and his suroundings. Tendrils of energy were woven into a spell, a spell of terrifying proportions not seen for quite some time. Azarneth continued walking towards the massive portal while reciting the words of the spell. This spell had a potential range of dozens of miles if enough power was put behind it, but Azarneth merely wanted to see the effects up close. That sight never grew old. He had combined the spell with components of several other schools of magic, yet the basis was still the necromantic wonder know as the "wind of death". At about five hundred meters, he released the spell. Clouds of pitch black smoke materialized around Azarneth, shooting towards the gate at speed higher than that of a diving falcon and howling like a chorus of damned souls. Alarms were sounded by the garrison, but it was already to late for many: The smoke engulfed them and melted the flesh from their bones, their screams unheard in screeching winds.

Azarneth laughed, and as he came closer to the portal, his physique began to change. Simple grey robes turned to black plate armor and chainmail cloak. He began to grow, towering over the remaining defenders, twice the height of an orc, with burning purple eyes, a heavy mace of appropriate size in his right hand. The black clouds faded, revealing blackened bones and a few small domes of magic were mages and priests had managed a rushed defense. Even faced with disastrous casulties, the majority of the survivors tried not flee, prefering to stand and fight. If they wished to die, Azarneth was willing ensure that they would now. As he reached the steps at the base of the massive construction, the first counterattacks began. Arrows, bolts, spells and bullets hammered into his armor, yet all of them were shrugged of, not even scratching the hellforged adamantium. After the first couple of volleys, the garrison countercharged, Horde and Alliance fighting side by side. (Those seem to get along just fine), he thought as he grapped a Tauren by the throat with his right hand and snapped his spine with a single move. The mace in his left hand was put to use as well, hurling to bodies of those aside who were not turned into a red paste.

No matter how foolish they were, Azarneth had to comment both the bravery and the skills of his foes. Some even got manaved to hit him in melee, impressive, yet pointless. Still, a few of them did run and made it. This would be no problem, after all, his purpose here was to distract all factions who might otherwise focus on potential infiltrators. He smashed the last orcs between him and the portal, looking through the fel vortex. The defenders on the other side were ready for him, placed in a shield wall, flanked by units of archers and the small number of casters at their disposal. He also saw several riders leaving on flying creatures, no doubt to inform all other enemy forces within reach. This got better and better. He stared again at the shield wall, and while there was fear in various eyes, there were no signs of panic. This was the kind of resolve Azarneth could respect, even though his respect was lessened by the fact that they did not retreat. Determination and bravery were positive traits, but there was no use in fighting a battle against a foe you could not injure.

Captain Gairg, Horde garrison commander for the Draenor side of the Dark Portal, tried to stay calm as the huge armored figure on the other side turned to last guards there into a mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered bone. Messengers had been dispatched, his orders were clear: The portal was to be held at all cost. They had done so for the duration of the Burning Crusade, facing countless attacks from the demonic monsters of the Legion. Compared to Lord Kazzak, a large person in plate armor was not too terrifying. Except for the clouds of death, they had been properly scary, even more so since they had come out of nowhere.

The Alliance seemed to plan the same, suprisingly honourable and refreshingly devoid of their usual cowardice. They to braced, took aim with all their weapons and some prayed to their light.

Slowly, the massive armored shape stepped through the portal, again ignoring the firestorm greeting it. However, it did not charge, instead raising its left hand, mace now in its right. Lightning zapped from the attacker's gauntlets, a barrage to put most shamans to shame. More than a dozen fighter fell to the ground, bodies smoking. The next salvo exploded between the Alliance troops, hitting the ground to generate a hail of stone shrapnel. The armored footmen had little to fear, but the fragments posed a lethal threat to the largely unprotected priests and mages, in addition to disrupting the formation.

As a shooting match was clearly a lost cause, Gairg lead the charge. The chances were less than favourable, but so they could use all their men. No point in standing still in a magic bombardement.

* * *

Stormwind. The crown jewel of human civilisation. A huge city filled with all sorts of people, rich and ruled. The damage of the last Scourge assault, the trigger for the current campaign, was alomst completely repaired. The streets were busy as the fleet, both normal ships and the newer airships, prepared to depart on the perilous journey. The army was still recruiting and hiring countless mercenaries, and with the war so close by many sought to spend what money they. The honest taverns made good profit, but so did the seedy gambling establishments, drug dens and whorehouses. The city watch and the magistrates mostly looked the other way, both to avoid trouble with the often well armed guests of said illegal enterprises and to keep the money flowing. As long as it did, some would find its way into their pockets too.

As Vlad and Sintharia entered through to south gate, their feelings could barely have been more different. For Vlad, this was a place of great opportunity, where money could be made, blood could be drunk, power gained and witness bribed or disappeared. For Sintharia, this was only the realm of the enemy, a area without any safety, a collection of buildings she only wanted to see burning together with their inhabitants. Especially the castle. And the cathedral. It took all her willpower to keep these impulses under control.

Of course, they both had to avoid detection, which in turn meant avoiding practioners of the Holy Light as well as those of the arcane arts. Not very easy in city full of them. After close to two hours of failed searching, a backalley fight and the following interrogation of the would-be robbers (no witnesses, thankfully), they finally arrived at the Veilet Duchess, a tavern for those which lots of money, but little interested in meeting city officals. At least, while said officals were on duty.

The Veilet Duchess had the same basic structure as most taverns in these parts: A large dining room, a kitchen and personal quaters at street level, guest rooms upstairs and a cellar for storage. In addition, the cellar or this establishment contained both a gambling room and a tunnel for swift, unexpected exits.

The dining room was quite impressive: Large tables, very comfortable looking armchairs or benches and carpets to dampen any steps. Various staff members were busy here. The muscular types who made sure that no anger got out of hand, the usual waiters and waitresses and a few women whose clothes revealed too much for them to belong to the former group. In these early evening hours, the tavern was full, although most of the current guests were too loud and too bad mannered for the usual customers in place like this. These were some of the more sucessful and more shady mercenaries who had survived the Crusade. The bouncers left them alone, equal parts because of the money they spend and their fearsome reputation.

Sintharia chose a table in a corner, and Vlad followed suit. He did not stay there, prefering to head over to the bar. Sintharia said nothing, using the given opportunity to sit back and observe her companion. He seemed to be the perfect socialite, integrating effortlessly into conversations of complete strangers, flirting with those willing to flirt, ignoring those who stared in their drinks and playfully turning down the avances of the local hookers. All in all, Vlad seemed to be perfectly at home here, while Sintharia was endlessly struggeling not to turn this place to ash. How could anyone live here without going insane? She had no intentions to join this pointless charade, and if any local was to approach her, she was almost sorry for the fool who would tip her over the edge. Almost.

Vlad returned after a longer flirt with what looked like an elven rogue, putting to glasses and a bottle on the table. Whiskey, judging from the spell.

"What are you doing?", she hissed. Quiet, but clearly angry. "Aren't we supposed to avoid attention, and you start seducing a patron at the bar. Should you take this more seriously?"

"I am", Vlad replied in the same hissing tone. "How stealthy do you think you are? Sitting in the corner, touching neither food nor drink, with a look to scare a wolfpack. This is the opposite of blending in. You see what nearly everyone here does, feasting, drinking, gambling and whoring around. And you know why they do it? They just survived hell, and their going in again. There is no point in dying with coin in your pocket. So they spend it, either to celebrate their victory or to escape their nightmares. You, on the other hand, look like the textbook example for suspicious behavior."

"Are you drunk?" she asked, smelling the alcohol in his breath.

"No. Undead can't get drunk. But I learned how to play to role of tge drunk. So please, try to look somewhat less like a spy on a stakeout."

"Wait a second, you can't get drunk ans you feed on human blood, but whoring around with that wench over there is still an option?" Sintharia looked smug. "How does that set of attributes come to pass?"

"That, mylady, is a question you would have to ask my wife. She did most of the magical design for my current state." Vlad smiled as he left again, returning to the elf.

Sintharia filled one glass and downed it at once. This would be a long night, and she would need to stay calm.

So she stayed down in the corner, still watching, but taking a drink every now and then.

* * *

As the door fell shut behind them, Vlad began to feel a little sorry for what was about to happen. He prefered blood from voluntary sources or dead foes. As the elf, Marianne, she had introduced herself, had shown willingness to enter a room with him alone, the chance had been to good. Hunting blood in the streets was always a risk, and with a travel companion so bad at blending in, he could not take any chances. Marianne turned around to undress. She smiled as she took a step and kissed him. He returned it, and as he did, his right hand rushed through the gestures of the sleeping spell. A spell handy in quite a lot of situation. Marianne had downed more than just a few drinks, her resistance was nonexistent, and the effect came instantly.

She stepped back. "I'm... so... tired", she said.

"You'll be fine", was the last thing she heard as she slackened and Vlad caught her before she would hit the floor.

Vlad carried on onto the bed before rolling up her sleeve. From experience, fewer people paid attention to this part of their body. He took care not to drink too much, still feeling somewhat guilty.

He left a note before returning downstairs.

 _I thank you for the most enjoyable time we shared. May the light guide you on your future journeys._

As he left the room, a part his mind cursed him again for his romantic, melodramatic tendencies.

* * *

Sintharia had spend enough time sitting still. The bottle was nearly empty now, and she had become restless, wondering how to cope with her losses and how to suppress her burning wrath more effectively. Could this place be the right one? Were the patrons right in drowning their haunts in liquor, the thrill of the cards and bought affection. (Damn it, there is one way to find out), she thought as she left for the gambling cellar.

The game was already in progress, eleven players at a large, round table and about the same number of people watching. She made her way to these players, asking one them: "Is there any room for another friend of the lovely game?"

The gambler in question, a dwarven women, eyed Sintharia cautiously. "There is always room for another player if said person has the money."

Damned. How could she forget that?

"Don't ruin the mood Reeba", the man who currently hold the highest stake said. He pushed a handful of coins over to Sintharia. "Which kind of scoundrel would keep a lady from gambling if she lacks coin in the moment. I'm sure the lady will repay the debt, one way or the other", he continued, smiling suggestively.

Sintharia wrestled down the urge to burn the flesh from his bones as she grapped a chair and said down. She hated this kind of company, but this didn't mean that she didn't know how to behave in this kind of situation. "Consider this an investment", she said, forcing herself to smile. "Once I've emptied all of your pockets, your investment will be returned doubled."

The cards for the next round her handed out, and the first stakes began.

* * *

Grave silence fell on the sanctum as Sartharion finished his report on the past events and his plans for the future. Theralion and Valiona were deeply scared, but fear took a back seat from wrath. No sane mind liked being used as a puppet, and while the corruption had been expelled, pride and viciousness stayed part of their personality. Luckily, Sartharion had already made plans for further operations. They would slowly free their kind, one by one, faking loyalty to Deathwing till they would be strong enough for a coup to suceed. For now, Valiona and Theralion would have to recover, as the purge had been very painful and had left them weak as a kitten. The rest would not last long, the next targets were already know: Ambassador Nalice and Serinar, guardian of the Obsidian Dragonshrine.

The main threat was the possibility of more troops being send from Grim Batol, followed by the danger of the wyrmrest forces deciding for a preemtive strike against shrine or sanctum. They could only hope for more patience from those in the temple above. Another problem was their obvious lack of forces. Each them was powerful, but three creatures could not fight a war.

Far from Northrend, a scout from the blue flight sensed a disturbance in the web of magic, the misuse of large amounts of energy for the most evil kind of spell. Even worse, the disturbance happened somewhere close to the Dark Portal. This matter was in need of immidiate investigation.

* * *

Leaving the corpses of the garrison at the portal, Azarneth began to make his way across the blasted wasteland of Draenor. His goal were the remains of the Tempest Keep in the north of the shattered land, yet again, no need to hurry and skip the pleasentries on the way. Much was to be seen and experienced. Azarneth smiled as he walked. He could claim to truly love his job.

* * *

 _As the minions continued their dance, the watcher's mood shifted again. This was most entertaining, however, more would be needed the satisfy the watcher's hunger. Impeding on the work of the minions was inadvisable, but there were others willing to spill blood for reason they thought to be their own. Burning eyes stared in different directions, at different worlds, on the look for those with ambitions of conquest. Plenty were seen, a decision had to be made. Once again maniacal laughter send shivers down the spines of guards as the watcher began incantations of old magic. The guards knew what this meant: More death and destruction to amuse the watcher they served, which also meant more potential spoils for loyal subjects. And so they joined in, more malicious cackling filling the lightless caverns and halls._

* * *

When Vlad was unable to find Sintharia in the dining room, his first instinct was panic. A loose dragon with an anger management problem could mean only disaster. As he regained his inner composure, he remembered that mundane solutions were often the best. So he asked a waiter where his "friend" had gone. The answer suprised him, but this was an opportunity we would not let pass. So he too entered the gambling room, becoming just another spectator. And it did pay off. Here, at the gambling table, his companion seemed to be an entirely different person, playing winning hand after winning hand and leaving comments of sarcastic and teasing at any chance. _The dear lady knows her games all too well if she wants to show off. She just needs to snap out of her apathy. The question remaining is how to make that happen with reliability.  
_


	5. Chapter 4

The night had been long, interesting and profitable. All in all, Sintharia had won enough money to buy a new town house. After repaying her investor, she and Vlad prepared to retire for the remaining night. Vlad hesitated, but this was the last moment for apologies.

"I'm sorry for my harsh words earlier. I was rude and wish to apologize for my behavior."

"Its alright, after all, you were not wrong. I was not very inconspicuous, and we all mourn differently. Although it was somewhat rude. How was your company?"

Vlad's eyes widened slightly. "You didn't think that was sleeping with her, did you? I send her to sleep and fed on her blood. Seduction is highly effective at getting people in the right place to feed."

"Damned, I thought you liked her."

"She was fairly nice, but not really my type. Anyway, we will need our need our strength tomorrow when we sigh up for the invasion. Sleep well."

"You too."

The recruiting office was located close to the port, allowing new soldiers to board their transports immidiately. Long rows of voluntaries were already in place, waiting to be shipped to their deaths. At least Vlad thought so as they entered the line behind the others. Most of the recent "volunteers" were mercenaries who wouldn't survive, and weren't supposed to. To put it another way, each mercenary died for you in Northrend was one brigand less to worry about in your own lands.

It didn't matter. Neither Sintharia nor Vlad had any intention of dying in Northrend, and while the same could be said for all others, most of those came nowhere close to Azarneth's chosen in terms of power and skill.

The waiting was endless, and with the entertainment of the game gone, Sintharia felt her wrath retuning. The fleet was bunched together. One strafing run would set half of the ships alight, and their magazines would finsh the rest. (Calm down, she told herself, this is not the right time for something so obvious. The Alliance has to clear our way to victory first.) She still had doubts about Vlads plan, but she had agreed and would now have to go through with it. From her now knowledge of necromancy, it was certainly not impossible, but that didn't mean it wasn't impossible for them to to pull of.

After another felt eternity, they too reached the desk of the recruitment officer. "Your names and qualifications please", the officer asked. He was an average looking man in his middle years, and obviously both overworked and sleep deprived.

"Vlad Carstein, warrior, at your service."

"Selene Winters, thaumathurge, at your service." Ushering the words "at your service" came close to making Sintharia puke, but it had to be done.

The officer wrote their names on two prefabricated documents before handing said documents over. They were simple, containing name, the current date and the seal of the Stormwind League of Mercenaries and Sellsword, empowering the owner to act as a member of the army till the current war was over.

"Your both on the second airship of the forth squadron. Airship tower eleven. The king as has changed the orders to leave this noon. So get moving!", the officer commanded, and as the honest hired henchmen the pretended to be, they followed their orders. Soon, they and fourteen others shared on the troop compartments of the airship Royal Hawk, and only an hour latter, the massive vehicle began its journey. It would last two weeks in order to allow the navy to keep up, and would hopefully stay uneventful. None expected it to be.

* * *

The planing in the sanctum turned to nervous routine. Every day, Sartharion would try to scry on the outside world, while Theralion and Valiona tried to come up with a good way of hiding their newfound sanity. Every evening they would discuss their thoughts and try to shake of the near crippling fear, only for the horror to return into their minds every nightmare filled sleep.

There was no escape from the reality that their ideas were most likely to get them all killed. No matter how hard they tried, coming to terms with this remained all but impossible. Running and hiding was suggest by Theralion and found to be no solution, only delaying the end while wasting all chances to suceed. Even if said chances were miniscule, at least they existed.

Allying with the other flights was also suggested and found wanting. Even if they were not attacked and slain on sight, no sane outsider would put any trust in one of them. They were alone, and would stay so.

Ambassador Nalice would return to the temple in three weeks, and would probably stay in the sanctum to sleep. She could be taken care of, but they would still be unable to leave the sanctum. If Deathwing would send other minions to check on them, all could still be lost before Nalice even arrived in Dragonblight. It would be a gamble, and no one liked the odds.

And despite all fear and uncertainty, there was no surrender. Sartharion knew that he had done the right thing. He had failed in his duty, but he would do so no more. Now he would do what whe should have done millenia ago. He was scared, but not fearing Deathwing was only a sign of idiocy. And neither Sartharion nor his new supported had any illusions regarding their abilities to take on their former overlord personally.

More time was spend on the defenses of the sanctum and other preparations. More spells were put in place all over the complex. Under the guidance of Valiona and Theralion, he began to explore the full extent of the new abilities he had gained from the twilight magic.

Little more could be done. It would have to be enough.

* * *

Dark ranger Velonara, newly appointed special investigator to what was now called "the portal incident" had first thought her mission to be a punishment, but as she arrived at the scene, she could see that it truly was a priority task. The entire surrounding area was saturated with the darkest kind of magic she had felt since Quel'Thalas. It was different, meant to kill rather then to corrupt, yet still with lingering effects. The remains of those who had died defending the gate were not exactly encouraging, blackened skelettons and broken bodies covering the ruins of their posts. A few survivors had been found and questioned, but they were in a state of shock and therefore not really trustworthy. A single armored giant had taken on the garrison alone? Not the most believable story, but there were no others. It was time to go to the other side, a prospect neither Velonara nor her subordinates liked. There was no way of knowing if the attacker- or the attackers- had left traps or an ambush beyond the portal. The portal itself was apparendly not damaged.

Gathering all the courage her undead heart could muster, she and her entourage stepped through the portal, weapons drawn and spells ready.

They found a similar scene, more corpses and shattered defenses. No traps were triggered and no foe was in sight. The only lead was a trail of oversized, burned footsteps.

Velonara cursed her bad luck. If the owner of these footsteps was humanoid, he would be about twenty feet tall. This combined with the monster of a spell used here made for a daunting target to pursue through these charred wastes. It didn't matter. The culprit would be found and put down, as the Banshee Queen had ordered.

* * *

Two weeks later, the shore of Northrend came into view, yet remained shrouded in icy mist. Contrary to all assumptions, the journey had been free of noticeable events.

While Sintharia had spend most of her time alone, Vlad had tried to socialise somewhat with those they were supposed to fight side by side with. Now they both stood in on deck, staring at the shore. They both thought the same: This approach might soon turn to a disaster. Motivated by the lack of enemy activities, the air fleet had accelerated and left the navy behind.

"These airships are perfect targets for any kind of enemy fliers." Sintharia broke the silence as she looked around at the rest of the fleet."

"True, for the transports at least. Anyone coming from above can use the balloon as cover while also attacking it. Let's hope the gunships can keep us safe."

Yet no foe came into view. The tension remained as the transports closed the distance and snowy ground replaced the sea beneath the vehicle. An attack was coming, everyone on board felt it. And as the crew and the troops stared into the fog, searching for hidden emplacements in the snow, Sintharia's words proved their truth. A single figure fell out of the sky, almost to quick to follow, before hitting the left front propeller of the leading gunship. The engine exploded in bright cloud of fire, and the gunship began to lose altitude. Everyone jumped back from the sight, hands clutching weapons. The first suicidal enemy flier didn't stay alone. More Scourge creatures fell out of the clouds, now recognizeable as gargoyels. Shortly before crashing into their targets, they turned to stone statues, tearing through various parts as if they were parchment. Many did not survive the attack, but this was no concern for the mindless beasts.

One of them pierced the balloon of the Royal Hawk, turning back into flesh form mid-flight and charging Sintharia. Slavering jaws filled with brown, rotten teeth tried to close around her chest. She dodged to teh side and struck back, grapping the monster's head and violently turning it to the left, breaking the neck with a sickening crunch.

Sintharia grinned. Her mortal form only had a pale shadow her true strength, but she was still way stronger than a being for her size had any right to be. The chaos had errupted properly and completly, gunfire, screams and the sound of metal cutting through flesh were everywhere. She could see gargoyles drop, riddled with bullets, crewmembers and soldiers been torn apart by claws and fangs, Vlad standing between several dismembered corpses. About a mile to the front, the damaged gunship crashed in the snow. Sintharia joined the fight again, hurling firery projectiles and shadowbolts at all Scourge creatures in sight.

As the first gargoyl jumped towards him, Vlad had instinctively began a spell to bind the beast to his will. He managed to stop himself from doing something so obviously impossible for a common sellsword. Instead, he drew Blood Drinker had chopped the the monster to bits. The ancient weapon made a mockery of thick fur, flesh and bone, and the unnatural strength of its wielder caused bodyparts to fly in all directions. Yet as the first foe fell, several others had already landed. He began to cut his way through them, but most people on deck had less luck and were normal mortals, so injuries and casulties where widespread.

Then Sintharia opened fire. Half a dozen attackers were suddenll turned to ash. _Okay, mylady, you made your case. I keep you save and you send them to hell._ Vlad took position close to her.

"Focus on helping the crew. I cover the you."

Sintharia nodded, tongue busy with the words of another magical barrage.

However, the first wave had done its work as the nose of the airship shifted downwards. The remaining gargoyls jumped back into the air as the vehicle approached the ground at increasing speed. Every mage on board began casting protective spells. For a second, Sintharia was wondering way Vlad had not done so, before she remembered that his alias was no mage, so she extented her spell to him.

Even with the spells up, the crash was brutal. As the broken vehicle came to a hold, about half of the survivors on deck had gone overboard. The transport compartment was broken open, and those still able to fight stumbled outside. Some priests and the wounded would stay in the cover of the wreck till the area was secured, a task that would require no small amount of force. Other ships were on the ground as well, some landing intact, some crashing even worse. One particularly unlucky ship exploded upon hitting the ground, killing everyone inside.

The ground was only save directly at the shore, a the gunfire from the crashed gunship told. This wreck was now surounded by undead, and several units of archers were already moving into position to keep any potential reinforcements at bay. If action would not be taken swiftly, the stranded ship would be overrun.

* * *

Despite all the fear in advance, the turning of ambassador Nalice went well. One could call it the elegant product of expert planing and flawless execution. Or three attackers ambushing an unsuspecting target as she entered through the front door of a dungeon held be supposed alies, simply clubbing the victim into unconciousness. The ambassador had still put up quite the fight, and both Valiona and Theralion had suffered minor injuries in the struggle. Her corruption proved to be easier to purge the previous, most likely because she had been born with out it being integrated into her biology.

At this moment, the ambassador was still unconcious, and while while the purge at been easier, it seemed to have been just as painful as the previous ones. If Nalice now hopefully on their side, some of the fear mad way for cautious optimism. The ambassador could leave the sanctum without being attacked. She could even talk to the wyrmrest officals above. If all went well, this could be the turning point.

Of course, no one assumed that all would go well. Things had worked for now, but it was only a question of time before they ran out of luck or their treason would be detected. Again, all they could do was waiting and watching over Nalice as she writhed in her nightmares.

* * *

Azarneth knew that he was hunted, but made on attempts to hide. In fact, he revelled in the thrill and wanted to find out how skillful his hunters were. Apart from assuming mortal form again he took no measures to conceal his presence, leaving a trail of magical energy everywhere he went. The trail was weak, but those who knew their craft should be able to follow it without trouble. As he wandered over the cursed soil, he could only feel at home.

* * *

"We need to get to that gunship!", Vlad yelled as the next volley of arrows rained down on their position.

"And I suppose you also need a menu with five courses and and a mansion on the beach? Wish for something plausible!", Sintharia replied while sending the next fireball towards the enemy archers. All around them, Alliance soldiers and mercenaries ducked behind whatever cover was available, shields held high to stop indirect projectiles. The situation got worse as more and more undead surrounded the wreckage of the first gunship, in spite of the remaining cannons which raked their lines with grapeshot.

"The leadership of this fleet is most likely in that wreck. A lot of people lead from the front no matter the danger. We should at least try to save them." Vlad seemed to like playing the hero.

"And how are we going to do this without revealing us. These guys aren't helping", Sintharia said and glared at soldiers and their cover.

Vlad's expression changed as he got the necessary idea. "All these guys need is encouragement and a general plan."

"No, you're not going for some inspirational speech. Please tell me you won't."

Vlad grinned in response. "Watch and learn." He rose from his cover and turned towards the panicked troops, paying no mind to the enemy fire.

"Soldiers of Stormwind, protectors of the Light, listen up!" His voice was now that of a classic fire-and-brimstone preacher, his eyes staring with the zeal of a true fanatic, and from his first words, he had the attention of everyone. Even Sintharia had to admit that he was good at this.

"We stand here in the frozen lands at the end of the world and face the monsters of the grave. We have a choice now: We can cover were, wait for our comrades to die and follow them soon, or we can stand up and spill the blood of those who want to spills ours! I won't lie, it will be hard and some of us will fall. But ask yourself: Do you want to all die as cowards, or to want for those who die to die as heroes and those who live to make sure the sacrifices were not in vain? You into your hearts, my comrades, and you will find your answer! This in a time and place for heroes, and theirs is one in all of you!"

An arrow bounced of his left pauldron, but Vlad ignored it.

"Who of you his willing to give what can be given? Who of you will follow me to victory?"

Universal cheering was the answer.

"Then follow me. Shields up, wedge formation, mages and priests o  
in the center! Spread healing spells out as wide as you can, rotate the outer line if their are heavy injuries!" Vlad turned back to Sintharia.

"Lady Winters, clear our path please."

Still somewhat shocked by the sudden surge of in thr resolve of all those around her, she could only play along.

"Of course general Carstein. However, I would be thankful if anyone were to support me."

"You heard the lady. Let's show these brainless beast want solid minds and sharpened steel can achieve! Forward!"

And so the army surged towards the wreckage, covered by the magical assault of Sintharia and the other mages. Fire was raining down on the enemy lines, and the arrows became fewer. Then the hard part began as the wedge hit the enemy front, and the proper chaos errupted.

* * *

Vlad ducked under the swing of the abomination, escaping jts massive axe while he drove his weapon through its torso. The undead golem fell as Blood Drinker snuffed out its lifeforce like a candle. He was isolated from the mortals he had let here, a good thing a it enabled him to fight as his full potential, cutting a bloody path through the Scourge ranks. The wedge formation was still working, compensating the lower individual strength of its members through coordination and teamwork. Whoever controlled the Scourge in this area had clearly no idea of how to use his minions properly. In competent hands, units of undead automatons were also capable of formation fighting and battle tactics, but these undead were simply a blob of beasts throw towards the enemy.

It was worthy of note, but Vlad would not complain about fighting idiots.

More grapeshot came from the ship, and Vlad could only hope that the gunners were able to tell friend from foe. At least, this was our prove that someone in the wreck was still alive.

Vlad slowed his advance to let the formation catch up to him. The formation did, its members covered in blood and reduced in numbers, but still willing to fight.

"Victory is near! Do not falter for it is the time for the Scourge to fall!", he shouted and got a warcry in return.

Sintharia stayed behind the frontline in order to avoid showing her unnatural abilities by being engaged in melee. So she used more spells, blasting tight packs of creatures as they approached the shieldwall. Slowly, the struggeling formation fought its way through the undead.

Neither Jaina Proudmoore nor any of the other people on board of the Holy Resolve had hoped to survive. As the wreck was surounded, everyone had planned to make the hated foe pay as much as possible before they fell. Bolvar Fordragon had led the prayers as the undead closed in. Now, more than half of the initial survivors were dead and there was no ammunition left. All inside were exhausted, the skills of the paladins were all that kept them on their feet. And now, the unthinkable had happened and backup had arrived. How did a unit of green recruits make it so far? No way to tell, but Jaina felt that someone out there used powerful magic. Very powerful magic. How new recruit could pull of anything of that magnitude was different question, a very interesting one, but also one for a calmer time.

After being defensive for the last few hours, it was now time for Jaina to join the offensive. Overlooking the battle from the ruined command bridge, she cast one of her signature spells to bind the water in the sky to solid form. Iceshard the size of human torso rained from the sky, crushing everything they hit. Jaina had aimed well, causing the blizzard to clear the remaining way for the advancing infantry. After a last look over the railing, she turned to run down the stairs into the ship. Reinforcements would be a waste of life if she stayed inside the wreckage.

Highlord Bolvar Fordragon could not believe his eyes for a moment as the first Alliance soldiers broke through the encirclement and reached the survivors inside. A battered man, sergeant by his rank insignia, stumbled before him.

"Mylord, we have to get you out of here, before the Scourge can reorganize."

"Send some men in to carry our wounded out. Those you can still fight will help you to keep the enemy at bay."

"Yes mylord!"

The sergeant ran back to bis squad and the order spread through the ranks. The undead were currently held back by the remaining fighters, Jaina's blizzard and, curiously, waves of fire coming from someone still hidden in the wedge formation. Bolvar made sure to remember this. There were on high ranking mages in the transports close by. Any person with these skills was by default a person of great interest. But now the task at hand was to evacuate quickly and without taking more losses. Finding the mage responsible would have to wait, as would the promotion of the officer in charge and the prayers for the dead.

And so they fled back to shore, back into cover, waiting for the rest of the fleet while fearing the next enemy charge. But no such charge came, instead, the Scourge troops disappeared in the snow and fog like ghosts, leaving only the dead and the wrecks to prove that tey had ever been here.

When the fleet arrived, they found hundreds of wounded, barely able to stand behind their makeshift defenses. But now, fresh troops would handle both the guard duty and set up the camp. The battle had been a costly one, latter reports would state more than a thousand dead, most of those caused by the crash of their transports, and nearly twice that number seriously injured. The planer for this approach would be dismissed, and a few good and brave souls would now be considered heroes. As would Selene Winters and Vlad Carstein.

* * *

The news were bad. Of course they were. They had not been good in the last few decades, with no change in side. Yet this was worse, something that would result in a drastic change of plans. Malygos had considered war on the mortals for their missuse of the world's magic, but the findings from the Dark Portal could not be ignored. A small sample had been send to him, and its study send shivers down his spine. Its was similar to fel magic, more stable yet just as evil in nature. Using stuff like this was one of the few things Malygos was more worried about than the careless use of magic by idiots. As long as the source of this cursed stuff was unchecked, no action would be taken elsewhere. The Horde had already send a team after the attacker, and the Alliance would certainly do so as well. The blue flight lacked the numbers to send an expedition through the portal, but there would be a squad waiting on Azeroth if anything from Draenor made an appearance. Time would tell if this was enough, but for now, Malygos could only hope so.

* * *

The Zangarmarshes were a nice piece of land, filled with all manners of exotic and interesting critters. Azarneth took his time to watch what could be watched, and learn what was to be learned. The biology of these animals here was most facinating, how naturally they had adapted to the raw nether energy flowing through these lands. He continued his way, enjoying the beautiful nature without worries, not bothering with any attempts to conceal his true nature. The predators would sense that he was no prey for them, and the smaller critters knew that he had no interest in eating them. From all Azarneth could tell, his hunters should still be on his trail, and would hopefully be another nice distraction in the near future.

* * *

The closer they got to their target, the more nervous Velonara got. Her forces were limited, and the trail looked more and more like it was left on purpose. But even if it was, Sylvanas' finest would not falter. Trap or no trap, their was no option to ignore orders. The marches were treacherous terrain, but the Dark Rangers loved such locations. Of course, there were no illusions about the danger their prey posed. Anyone who could wipe out an entire garrison was someone to approach with the utmost caution. Telepathic messages were send back to inform the Horde leadership about their progress.

* * *

Ambassador Nalice took her sudden sanity and the lack of voices in her head better than the twilight dragons, but it was obviously still a shock. There was no need for history lessons, as Nalice had not been under Deathwing's tutelage for her entire life. After the initial shock had gone by, her eyes flared wirh seething rage and the hatred the corruption had planted against her kind was now solely focused on those responsible. Even more evidence that mind control was only a short term solution for a lack in personal. It was however a great way to make bitter enemies, and while the control of the old gods was now broken, some off the effects on their victims, such as a certain viciousness and a tendency towards the most brutal revenge, would stay till the wounds of the mind healed, which would only be achieved with time and rest. Now they had someone to speak with the outside world, and while no one would call them trustworthy, it was better than nothing. Each dragon freed was one steo towards taking Deathwing down for good.

 _If we can somehow convince Wyrmrest to accept us, we might actually have a chance at this._ Sartharion felt strange as he watched those he had freed. For the first time since the war of the ancients, he felt like he had deserved the honor of guarding the sanctum. For the first time, he felt like he truly fullfilled his duty.

* * *

"There is something fishy about this campaign. I tell you, this does not make any sense." Vlad seemed more nervous than Sintharia had ever seen him before. And yes, the battle yesterday had been strange, especially the sudden enemy retreat. With a solid, prepared assault, in would not have been impossible for the Scourge to take the beach anyway and wipe the landing force out. Sintharia shared her observations, and Vlad was quick to agree.

"But there is more to it," the Vampire said, pacing up and down in front of one of the campfires. "The Scourge sury has the scouts to detect an incoming fleet, but why wait till the enemy gets to the coast before attacking? If you make sure that the transports end at the bottom of the ocean, you can assume that most of those onboard will end there aswell. And if you plan to let the enemy take the beaches, why don't attack from behind? Undead don't breathe, so a savvy commander could have entire battalions march out of the water straight into the rear of the enemy positions. Are all Scourge officers idiots?"

"I don't think so," Sintharia said. "If they were, the Scourge would not exist today."

"Then why act like this? They had all the time in the world and nearly unlimited ressources to prepare, and this is the best they came up with? Either the high ranking Scourge leaders turned to idiocy, or they wanted us to win. They had no elite forces here, no mages, no proper monsters. And why let us take a beachhead? This was the best chance to keep us out of Northrend, and they wasted it."

"You seem very frustrated about our victory, despite the fact that we will now be considered heroes by many, which you hoped for."

Vlad sighed. "I know we won, for a larger part because of your magic, but this worries me. I don't understand why our enemies acted like this, and I want to understand them. If you don't understand your foe, there is no small chance you're being outsmarted."

"I see why that would be a problem, and your idea about troops from the sea is devious. We have to watch over our shoulder, and not only figuratively." Sintharia smiled. "We should try to make the best out of the current situation, shouldn't we?"

This caused Vlad to smile too. "You should be at the frontline more often. Its a sight for sore eyes to see you in a good mood. And it is certainly rare enough."

"I admit that winning a battle has something deeply satisfying. However, our new status worries me. I don't know if I can play a hero for the masses."

"Then don't. Stay out of the lights, keep your presence in the shadows. You would have to stay more careful about your privacy though. People love their mysterious heroes, and they love it even more to stick their noses into the business of said heroes." Vlad took a two goblets and a bottle out of some hidden compartment. Sintharia could only wonder where he had kept a glass bottle during the battle without it breaking.

He filled both goblets and handed one to her. "On our glorious victory", he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Cheers!"

How could this be refused? "Cheers!"


	6. Chapter 5

After some much needed rest, Bolvar and Jaina set out to find those who had saved them the day before. Questions during the debriefing mentioned two names repeatedly: Vlad Carstein as the one who took command over the disorganized units and let them to their rescue, and Selene Winters as the ironically named mage who had cleared the path with fire. Both had been on board of the Royal Hawk, and would probably have their quarters inside the stranded vehicle. So Bolvar and Jaina entered the ship and asked a guard to guide them. Apparently, the new fame had already got the two in question their own rooms, quite the luxury in such crowded conditions.

They arrived after a few minutes, and Bolvar knocked at the door, which opened after a couple of moments, and allowed the highlord and the archmage to enter. The light inside was dim, but a single gesture from Bolvar fixed that problem.

It was time to take an actual look at those who had arranged their rescue. Carstein was tall, not as tall as some, but still above average, very handsome with his sharp features and dark hair, and still clad in plate armor. He had the posture of those of noble birth, and directed a short bow at the entering highlord. Lady Winters was a true beauty, even though she stared icy daggers at Bolvar. There was something odd about her, and she reminded the highlord of someone. Her raven hair was unkempt, but it had probably been a pain to get the blood out of her mane. She was pale, but less so then Carstein, who looked almost sickly.

"Sir, we did not expect you. I apologize for our lack of preparations", Carstein said in his soft and pleasent voice. "Lady Winters does not feel too well after yesterday, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry, everyone would feel bad after yesterday", Jaina said. "We just wanted to meet does who saved us before the offical business."

"What offical business are you talking about?" Sintharia asked, voice as cold as the stare she still had focused on Bolvar.

"Well, you will be rewarded, promoted, and probably even knighted for your actions. There will be some formalities and an offical ceremony."

Neither Sintharia no Vlad were looked forward to said "formalities". Indeed, both were already expecting what was to come: Hearings and investigations conducted by the rather infamous SI 7. So preparing was the only option. The offensive into Northrend would be lead by others, for the time being. And so, two days after the announcement by highlord Fordragon, they were both lead to different rooms aboard another, newly arrived gunship.

The room was deep inside thes ship, with no windows and only some light provided by candles. It was also very quiet, even though the ship itself was still in use. Two SI 7 guards stood next to the door, and another agent set behind a desk, studying a document. He rose his head slightly.

"This is most interesting. Before you sighned up for the Northrend expedition, there is no mention of a Selene Winters in our archieves. Not a single one. Care to explain that?"

Sintharia faced his glare without flinching. "I did not have much contact with others. I prefered to be alone. All I can tell is that this is not the case anymore." She tried to keep a neutral expression, but it was not enough for the agent in question.

"And why would you, a mage great power by our very few accounts, forsake society to live in isolation. Normal humans would suffer greatly from this kind of lifestyle."

"The reasons for my past choices should be of little to no concern for you. After all, you can see that my views have changed."

"But you will have to reveal more to be considered for a noble title."

"I never said that I wanted a title." Sintharia hissed. "I don't care for such things, as I am here for my own reasons. Reasons I won't speak about."

The agent merely noted something on the parchment before him.

"If that is the case, and you decline your title, this hearing is offically over. Stay safe."

Sintharia turned and left without another word. Back with his guards, the agent wondered about this kind of answer.

"She could have made up all kinds of reasons, and we would not be able to verify them. Whatever she has been through, its good she won't become a member of the nobility. We have enough crazies there already."

Only a few minutes later, Sintharia heard someone knocking at her door. "Enter", she called, already preparing a shadowbolt just in case.

The door opened, and lady Jaina Proudmoore stepped in. Sintharia had expected a few options: SI 7 goons who had found out about her, some fool who wanted to meet a powerful mage, someone shady trying to recruit a newly found hero into a conspiracy, highlord Fordragon, well the last one came from her wish to find an excuse to kill the one responsible for Onyxia's death. But Proudmoore was a suprise. Sintharia did not know a lot about her, except for the fact that Proudmoore had been close to Arthas before the fall of Lordaeron.

"What do you want here?" Sintharia asked, trying and at least partially failing at sounding nice.

"I heard that you declined your promotion because you didn' want to talk about your past." Proudmoore hesitated, seemly a little embarassed. "I don't want to press this to hard, but could you tell me who your teacher was? I would have known you if you studied in Dalaran."

"I tell you what I told SI 7. I don't want to talk about it, not to them and not to you. I want to leave the past behind me." Sintharia tried again to keep her anger hidden, and now sounded sad instead.

"Fine", Jaina said. "But please tell me if your opinion should change."

"I doubt that will ever happen."

With a somewhat compassionate, but also disappointed look, Proudmoore left. It took some time for Sintharia to calm down. Any interaction with high ranking members of the Alliance made her blood boil, but at least, she had now seemingly found the right tone to appeal to human compassion. Very useful indeed...

* * *

As Vlad entered the room with the SI 7 personnel, he was still wandering what to say exactly. There would be no reports on him, as he had arribed on this world just a few months ago and had stayed in hiding for most of the time.

The interogator wasted no time on small talk and began with the questions about the lack of documents on his person.

"My family hid from something or someone", Vlad began his lie. "My parents died before they could tell me why we had to avoid living a normal life. When they died, I could not take the loneliness any longer and came to Stormwind. I do think that my name is probably made up, but it is the only name I have."

"When did your parents die?"

"About a year ago. I tried to continue hiding for while, till it was too much to bear?"

"Cause of death?"

"A sickness. I'm sadly no expert on the matter, so I can't tell you which one."

Some other questions followed, and Vlad lied his way through them. He was far from bad at playing a confused young man who barely knew the civilised life, pretenting to have a more romantic view. After about twenty minutes, the hearing was offically over.

In truth, Vlad worried a lot more about his companion than about his own story. _Relax,_ he told himself, _she can handle herself just fine if she wants to. At least, I hope she remembers her basic social skills._

* * *

 _The watcher had seen the minions work, and decided to accelerate the plan. More forces would be required, and the watcher knew now where to get these. Burning eyes shifted further north, to the massive citadel in Icecrown. Under the Lich King, there were quite a few creatures who hated their master. Or would hate him if they had the chance. And the watcher was capable and willing of giving such opportunities to those craving them and willing to pay the price._

Sindragosa had lived in perpetual tormet for every second of the few months since she was turned into a frostwyrm. She had died filled with the insane rage of the betrayed, and _Arthas_ had used that as he animated her remains. Her true self was shuffed into the back corners of her mind, the control handed over to an idiotic carricature of herself, implanted with blind loyaly towards the Lich King. She had access to watered down version of the impressions gathered by her senses, and she was sure that this was only there to hurt her. Arthas was known for a sadistic streak, after all. The constant feeling of being powerless and seeing her kind also hovering the citadel as frostwyrms was gnawing at her, and she was suprised about herself not being a drooling maniac yet. This would change when the voice spoke for the first time. It sounded terrifying, like bones cracking in a fire, booming with great power, and but somehow it was still not unpleasent to hear. Probably because it was the first time in months she had heared voice that was neither Arthas nor Kel'Thuzad.

 ** _Forgive me, but you look miserable, little one. You surely would like to change something about that?_**

 _Great, I finally snapped,_ Sindragosa thought. _So weird voice in my head, what do you want?_

 _ **I want to offer you a deal. I can do a lot for you, and you could do a lot for me.**_

 _You need to be a little more specific._

 ** _You swear your allegiance to me, and I will free you, which should allow you to free your kind._**

Sindragosa answered with cheerless laughter. _Sorry, I don't want to take deals from a voice in my head. If have seen what happens if people do, and since you are most likely an illusion caused by me going insane, you don't actually offer me everything._

The voice hesitated for a moment. **_But if I am something caused by your subconciousness, you have nothing to fear from accepting. And if I am real, let me change my part: You swear your allegiance after you are free, and you have the right to back out of the deal if I am revealed to be some sort of tentacle monster. If you want prove of my existence, I can provide that._**

How would that work?

The voice chuckled. _**Please prepare to take control over your flight pattern.**_

Only a few seconds later, Sindragosa was overwhelmed with sensation was the full extent of her senses returned to her. Flapping her wings for the first time in all this time felt indescribably great. She retained control for only a few moments before she was hurled back into her prison in her own head.

 _ **Are you convinced now?**_

 _I am_ , Sindragosa replied in a shaky tone, _I'm scared but yes, I am convinced._

 _ **Very good. You and all your followers will need to play the obedient fools for a while. Some others are on the way to help. You will recognise them.**_

An impression of two magical auras was presented to her, long enough to easily remember them.

 ** _A pleasure getting to know you_** , the voice said before the frightening presence vanished.

Shivering and barely able to fly in a straight line, Sindragosa examined the web of spells covering her skeletal body. All seemed normal for the highest order of necromancy, except for one thing: The magical tether that and bound her to the Lich King's will had been severed. She would still here his voice, but it was now incapable of making her obey if she didn't want to. With a vicious joy in her mind, she began to examine the frostwyrms around her in the same manner. As consort of Malygos, she had been second only to him when it came to the subtle nuances of arcane magic. No matter how long ot would take, the entire frostbrood would be free.

* * *

"I really don't think this will work", Ambassador Nalice said for the hundreth time in the last few days. "I destroyed all my credibility years ago, and even with all treaties in place, the guards merely tolerate my existence. If I begin to tell stories about being purged of corruption, they will either take me for completely nuts or think its a ploy to make them pay less attention."

"I know that, Nalice. We all do. But you are the only one who can leave this sanctum without the guards ripping you to shreds. And while we might be able to fight our way out with a solid plan, the moment the aspects join the fight we're done for. So, even if your chance to convince them is bad, its our best option."

"I'm scared, Sartharion, I'm really fucking scared. Why don't you go if you think this is a good idea?"

Sartharion tried his best to sound encouraging. "You are the one with diplomatic immunity. Even if they don't believe you, all goes back to the status quo. I would go with me leaving the sanctum would not be considered an act of war."

Theralion and Valiona could only sit there and listen, lacking the experience needed to make proper suggestions. But still, there were benefits to gain from Nalice's position.

"What if you just return and act as you did previously?" Valiona finally dared to ask. "Everything would be as it was, but you could keep your ears open for anything that might help us."

"No a bad idea", Theralion quickly agreed. "But there is more to it. My sister and I can turn incorporeal. We can leave the sanctum through the walls without anyone seeing us."

Sarthrion's eyes widened "If you can do that, why didn't you say so earlier?"

Theralion looked at the floor. "I didn't think of it. I feel like an idiot."

"Don't worry about it. We all make mistakes, even more so while we're young. At least, you remembered it now."

The discussion would continue throughout the evening, without a clear result. However, the four renegades were at least able to get some confidence out of the presence of the others. After all, they were not completely alone.

Time was one of the few things they had. Each action would be carefully considered and planed. Yet still, fear had grapped their hearts and would not let go, and they all knew that fear was the reasonable emotion in their current, and probably future, situation.

* * *

The first part of the war went favourable for the invaders. No big battles to place in the frozen tundra after the first ambush, and with the reports were to be believed, the Horde had also established a beachhead. Still, the lack of a coordinated, large scale counterattack worried not only Vlad, but also several of the generala in charge of the operation. It was too quiet for a frontline, way too quiet. The Alliance already advanced towards Dragonblight. Flying scouts had revealed the position of the Naxxramas necropolis there, only a few miles from the massive fortified gate that blocked the path to Icecrown. If the war would continue in the fashion of catastrophic mistakes made by the Scourge, it would be the most harmless war Vlad had ever heard of.

Sintharia had her own worries as they approached Dragonblight. She wondered if anyone from her flight would be there, but she could to risk to investigate.

 _If anyone is still there, it will be Sartharion._ This was a somewhat calming thought. She had known the warden in the far past, in fact, she had even loved him in their youth. If anyone were to escape the clutches of the old gods, it would be Sartharion. She had never known someone as determined to his duty.

This was not the time to think about the long gone past. She had to stay focused, vigilant. The closer they got to the target, the less room for mistakes.

It was time for the next great push. After another couple of days without enemy movement, high command had send the order to take Naxxramas by storm. In a move decidedly atypical for the undead, the flying defenders had fled, leaving the fortress vulnerable to a direct assault. A second army was already marching into the upper layers of Azjol'Nerub while the gunship Skybreaker carried elite boarding troops of the 7th legion to the flying fortress.

Sintharia stared at the massive flying ziggurat, baffled by the lack of incoming fire. This was way too easy. The victory at the shore could have been part of a ruse, but using anything less than everything the Scourge had was a grotesk mistake during the defense of such an asset.

Yet there was still no sign of the foe when the Skybreaker fired its guns to crack the structure open. Still nothing when the gunship came to a hold and planks were placed to send the assault teams in.

Vlad entered through the blasted wound in the fortress, weapon drawn and eyes searching. The other fighters followed suit, then came the magic users, all spreading out through cold corridors decorated with skulls and past pools of toxic green goo. Those who knew how to find and disarm traps took the lead after there were no enemies in the zone of arrival. This would change soon. The first set of doors they opended revealed several flesh constructs who charged on sight. Spells and projectiles began to fly as the battle for Naxxramas began.

Sintharia sent another burst of lightning down a corridor, blasting several robed figures to pieces. The smell of ozone joined those of blood, burning flesh and rotten meat. The other cultist were unbothered by the fate of their comrades, continuing their onslaught if the same zeal as before. Some of them even used the green goo as a weapon. If there was something the Scourge was unbeatable in, it would be the generation of disgust.

To her mild suprise, the resistance was actually got considerable after some time. Constructs and Nerubians were reinforced by death knights and cultists. But still, this was easier than it should reasonably be. What was going on here? She hoped to find the answer here as she incinerated the next group of cultists. More soldiers advanced towards the central spire, brave or foolhardy enough to try to face Kel'Thuzad, if the lich was still in his chambers. _They are getting overconfindent. Is this the great plan here? Even if so, whoever came up with it is terrible at considering costs and benefits._

More undead and living cultists began to charge in. _This is absurd. Why don't they use the terrain to their advantage? They can't be still losing on purpose!_ A shade fired a volley of shadowbolts, and Sintharia dove into the cover of stone pillar, if only to conceal the fact that she was way too resistant to shadow magic to be a normal person. As she began to return fire, a priest had already banished the ghost. _Okay, the Alliance has truly send some their best. Hopefully, there will be any great funerals after this day._

Parry left, slash, step up dodge to the right, stab, slash low, duck, stab. Even with their low numbers and lack of leadership, the Scourge knights were willing to put up damn fine fight. Runeblades reached out for Vlad from three directions, and contrary to most weapons, these were magical and therefore an actual threat. It did not help them for long. Vlad cut down the last of the them before looking around. His squad had suffered at their hands, and even he had to admit that both said squad and the defenders had fought well. Perhaps driven by their sucess, the men had rushed further forward, leaving Vlad behind. He went to follow them when he sensed a massive surge of magical energy. He waited before rushed towards it, knowing that this was the sign of powerful mage going all out. Using magic on Azeroth was nowhere near as risky has it was back home, but such amounts of the strong stuff were still a danger for everyone nearby. It would be better to take on the mage in question after said mage had used up his reserves on the others. Cruel perhaps, but charging in without thinking could be a death sentence.

More sounds of battle came from the same chambers, screaming, screeching metal, the unmistakeable howling sound magical projectiles and several dampened explosions followed by more screaming.

Reaching the central room, it became obvious what had happened: The torn remains of the first two teams, thirty or forty in total, were splattered all across the large chamber, covering the walls, floor and even parts of the ceiling in blood and gore. But while even a glance showed that they were all dead, their killer would not be enjoying his triumph: Kel'Thuzad was lying in the middle of the room, his skeletton shattered and torn apart. Yet, at this moment, the lich was not quite dead. He clawed his way forward, looking for something, oblivious to the vampire in the room. This made Vlad most curious. Still existing in this shape would bring indescribable agony, yet their was something keeping the creature in the realm of the living.

"Why stay alive? You're suffering, and your wounds are fatal. Why remain in pain rather than escape into blissful oblivion?"

Kel'Thuzad looked around frantically till he found Vlad. The expression in his eyes was most suprising. Fear and some sort of desperate hope.

"Are you a man of honor?", the lich asked, his voice nearly breaking from the pain of speaking. "Would you honor the last wish of dying foe? You have little reason, but I can and will reward you."

Vlad hesitated for a moment. "I will honor your request if I can and doing so is no threat to me or my friends."

"Swear it!" The lich sounded more hopeful and more desperate at the same time.

"I vow to honor the last request of Kel'Thuzad to the best of my abilities, as long as doing so threatens neither me nor my friends and allies."

The lich made a strange sound, and a grey cat came out of a hiding spot in an alkove.

"Your reward behind the central part of the southern wall. Please take care of Mr. Bigglesworth". Very gently, the lich caressed the cat with his claw.

Vlad stepped closer, removed his gauntlets and picked the cat up. "Do not worry about him. He will be protected and well cared for."

"Thank you." Even Kel'Thuzad's fleshless face seemed to smile as he died.

Vlad carefully held Mr. Bigglesworth as they waited for backup. It took about five minutes till Sintharia and squads five and eight stormed into the room. The hidden storage was quickly found by those most hungry for loot. Vlad didn't care. As he returned to the airship, he did not even think about this fight being over so soon. All he could focus on was the warm furball in his arms.

The Skybreaker had received a new destination: In an inspiring show of megalomia, the wizards of Dalaran had moved the entire city to a flying position over some old cristal forest. It was considered neutral ground, allowing decent diplomacy while also solving nearly all the supply problems of having large forces in a barren land.

It would be a long flight, but with a cat on your lab, it would not be nearly as straining. And the destination might actually be a nice place to visit.

* * *

Azarneth made his way into the barren Blade's Edge Mountains, ignoring the obvious signs of ogre activities. If one of their patrols was looking for a fight, he was happy to give them the fight of their lifes. And what else could be done these boring and barren parts of the world? If one could not have some fun on duty, what was the point of taking such duties? The amount of strange magic was rising steadily, a sure sign that this was the right way.

* * *

Dalaran. The floating city of the Kirin Tor was seen by many as a symbol, a shining example for all those you had suffered at the hand of the Scourge and still prevailed. For masses at home, it was a symbol. For the generals, it was way to solve the nightmarish logistical troubles they would have to face without the flying city. And for the rank and file, it was as good a place as any other to lose their meagre pay. Now, after the end of Kel'Thuzad, there would be three days of feasting before the campaign was planed to proceed to the gates of Icecrown.

All those who had taken part in the raid on Naxxramas had been invited. A cynical observer could have poined out that this was only possible because the units involved had taken massive casulties and some had been wiped out, but what was the point in ruining the festivities for all?

For Sintharia, the parties she had to attent were yet another test for her already strained will. The fever of battle was gone for now, and she wondered why she was still doing this. Was there any chance for her own wishes to ever come true? And if not, why continue this farce?

The Kirin Tor would host the high society event in their citadel, yet the general mood was of a forced calm. Both Horde and Alliance would be present, even though the guest list was not published yet. Everyone would walk on eggshells to avoid any unintentional insult or other diplomatic incidents.

Dozens of guards were in place when the event finally began. The invited who were not among the highest ranking officals had to wait through strict controls to ensure no weapons were brought inside.

Of course, the guards would be loyal to their respective leaders should any hostilities arrise, many attendants had little need for weapons in order to kill, and those who relied on weapons either smuggled them in or kept close eyes on any type of furniture suited to beat other over the head. This was meant to be a feast of cooperation, but nobody in their right mind would skip preparations for the sudden battle of Dalaran.

The ball room was sight to behold: Massive in size, richly decorated and filled with guests from all over Azeroth (and technically Draenor).

 _And I increase the number of worlds represented by fifty percent. I need to do the old home justice._

As any event of the sort, it would begin with a speech. The guests were gathered in the main ballroom, an herald proclaiming the names of all who entered loudly. The speaker would be someone hated by many, but respected by all: Warchief Thrall himself.

"I thank you all for coming here, and I thank the Kirin Tor for offering their halls to us. Our joined efforts have wrought across the Scourge, and the Lich King will face justice shortly. I dearly hope that this campaign will not only end the Scourge, but will also enable cooperation between our people in the future."

Vlad had ever believed that an orc was capable of giving a decent speech in an appropriate tone. Thrall spoke clearly and with the confidence of someone who had no need for lies. Of course, the orcs from Azeroth were different, but it still a suprise.

After this introduction, the guest began to mingle, even if they did so mostly inside their respective faction. According to the heralds, the guests included Sylvanas Windrunner, Tirion Fordring, Darion Mograine and Jaina Proudmoore. But it was the last name Vlad worried about: Hubert Borgwen. _I have to find Sintharia, or this could become most ugly indeed._ He was angry at himself for letting her get here earlier, it had been hard enough to leave Mr Bigglesworth at all.

Sintharia sauntered through the feast, smiling, engaging in pointless chatter and hating every second of it. He hated this city, the people in here and the entire situation. In order to keep herself from focusing on an individual target for her rage, she moved often and drank. A lot. Her metabolism was able to deal with a great amount of alcohol, but after the ninth drink the effects began to show.

She tried to escape all those things, stepping out on one of the balonies, staring at the crystaline trees hundreds of meters below. The festive mood around her only increased her grief. Nefarian and Onyxia were dead. No matter how often the thought crossed her mind, the pain stayed the same, like a freezing knife twisted in her heart. _I should be with them. Was is the point of continuing?_ She could jump. Not even her true form would survive a fall from this height. _Or I could go down in flames. If turn just outside the window, I can empty my lungs through the balcony into the building. Set them all alight._ She struggled with these thoughts, but would catch herself always returning to actual consideration of these options.

"What ever you are currently thinking, please don't do it", Vlad said as he stepped next to her.

"Is it so obvious?"

Vlad smiled a sad smile. "A lady in emotional distress staring down from a balcony why all others seem happy? That leaves few options, and as I know you, you have one in mind that is even worse than what I think you're thinking."

Now it was Sintharia's turn to smile sadly. "I'm pathetic. Not even able to keep my weakness hidden."

"There is nothing wrong with showing emotion. It is however impressive that you are able to keep the wrath you must be feeling in check."

Sintharia downed the content of the first glass in one go. "Do you know a way to get out of this misery? I need something else."

Vlad thought for a second. "Just pretent to be unwell, and I will bring you outside. I think I know a way to cheer you up."

So they did, leaving the citadel for the nightly route to the inn where they both stayed. The alcohol was now in full effect, and Vlad had to support his drunken companion. The stairs would prove a more challenging foe for Sintharia then anything she had faced in Naxxramas. A seeming eternity later, they had opened the door of Vlad's room and entered.

Sintharia sad down on the bed while Vlad reached for something. It was to her suprise when he placed Mr Bigglesworth in her arms.

At first, she wondered if her companion had lost his mind. Then, the warm furball in her arms began to vibrate. The purring immidiately resonated in her bones, forcing all complex thoughts and worries in the background. Everything turned warm and fuzzy. Slowly, she leaned back until she lying, still holding the cat close to her chest. She fell asleep almost instantly.

Vlad stayed and watched for a few minutes. When he was sure that she truly was sleeping, he checked the protective spells around the room once more before leaving. It was time to return to the party. After all, this was an opportunity to learn or even make allies.


	7. Chapter 6

AN: I will be stuck in a dead internet zone for nearly two weeks, I can write but I can't publish it for the time. Wrathgate is next, enjoy the calm before the storm.

* * *

The party was still going when Vlad returned, and had apperently suceeded in bring the otherwise hostile factions together. Although they were still very cautious, the first dialogues between members of both factions had begun. Most would be pointless small talk, but it was miles above veiled threats and barely veiled insults.

 _Just like home. Give them a mutual target for their hatred and they will get along just fine._

He chose to blend in, moving around with a glass in his hand, listening here and commenting there. One had to be part of the crowd to be accepted by the crowd, after all. But it seemed as if his past actions and those of Sintharia had gotten more attention then anticipated. Vlad was rather suprised when he was approached by none other than archmage Rhonin himself.

"Good evening. I hope you are enjoying it?"

Vlad's mind began to spin. Had the mage found a hole in his disguise? Was this a way to get him nervous so he would reveal himself?

"I do like it, thank you", he responded, smiling nervously. "To what to I own the honor of talking to the head of the Kirin Tor?"

"No need to worry. I was looking for your apparent companion, lady Winters. I have never had of mage with that name, and I would have if she had learned her craft here."

 _At least he didn't get the reason I'm so nervous._

"The lady did not feel well, I'm afraid. She attented to avoid being rude, but has already retired for the night."

"Since you know where she stays, could you deliver a message? Her skills were descripted as very facinating, and I am sure the Kirin Tor could learn a thing or two from her. Please, simply ask her to come here tomorrow."

"I can do that, sir", Vlad said before hesitating slightly. "But I can't guarantee her agreement. She has more than the reasonable amount of shyness when it comes to meeting those of high social standing."

Rhonin seemed a little shocked. "I don't want to presure you or her into anything."

"I know. Just, don't get high hopes. I will relay your invitation, but it is possible that it will be declined."

"Thank you, sir Carstein. I would invite you too, but from what I have been told, you are no mage."

"I would still come if you allowed it. Even without the talent to use magic, I appreciate all the education I could get. After all, one never stops to learn."

This kind of enthusiasm would warm the heart of any mage. Rhonin began to smile. "If you want to join us, just come. And of course, you can only learn from lady Winters if she shows up." Another Kirin Tor stepped close and whispered something into the archmage' ear.

"Excuse me, more matters of state seem to need my attention."

Vlad went on to listen to the various conversations close by, but as he sauntered through the different rooms filled with guests, old insticts told him that he was being followed. The person doing the stalking was a Forsaken, a undead elf in black and golden clothes, blessed with good looks in life which were still somewhat intact, if damaged by clawmarks on her left cheek.

Vlad needed a confirmation. To obtain one, he left the main rooms for the less busy upper floors. Some people were already here, mostly couples seeking some... _privacy_. The quarters meant for the highest guest would provide what those couples sought, as most of these high guest would prefer outside lodgings. Or at least the heads of their security details did.

Indeed, the Forsaken followed Vlad up here, with no small amount of skill in hiding. However, it was time for the mouse to turn into the cat. No weapons were allowed here except for the guards, but a skilled assassin would be able to smuggle the tools of his craft in. As magic, claws and fangs where a last resort option, Vlad closed his hand on one of the glass bottles he had picked up. Lord Azarneth had been so kind as to give Vlad a cloak containing a personal pocket dimension, which he used to store all manners of things. It would be shame to waste a good drink, but a man knocking an attacker out with a bottle would raise far less eyes then a body torn apart by claws and fangs.

As he walked around the next corner, he checked on of he doors in the next corridor, finding it unlocked with an empty room on the other side. Fitting for what would be done. He hid in the next shadow, waiting for the Forsaken. When the woman arrived, Vlad grabbed her from behind, keeping her mouth shut as dragged her into the empty room.

"So you are following me", he hissed in her face, his left hand pressing her against the stone wall and covering her mouth, right hand ready to strike with the bottle. "What is the meaning of this, and who sent you? Scream and I will make that your last mistake." It was not the time to be properly terrifying. Not yet, at least.

The undead woman returned his angry stare with equal intensity, even after she tried to free herself and found Vlad to be much stronger than a person of his stature would be in almost all cases. Then she nodded, and Vlad pulled his left hand back, placing it on her shoulder instead, still pushing her against the wall to limit all options of mobility.

"You got more attention than you might have realised," the Forsaken said in her distorted, unnatural voice. "As there was no mention of a Vlad Carstein before he became a hero during the landing and gave an unbelievable story to SI 7, you have gotten interesting for my queen, Sylvanas Windrunner."

Vlad's eyes narrowed. _They already know what I told SI 7? Either they are really good or our intelligence service is utterly useless._ "So the queen of the Forsaken sends a spy after me to follow me around during a party. I hope that for you that you have something to back your claims."

"I'm not here to spy on you. My queen has send me because she wishes to talk to you. I was to meet you and bring you to her."

A humourless grin appeared in reaction. "And I am supposed to believe that I got royal attention, and that this is not a trap? Forgive me, but you have not made any effort to look trustworthy."

"Its not a route through dark alleys and back yards", the Forsaken sighed. "My queen is waiting in one of the salons downstairs. She just didn't want to approach you in person. Meeting the enemy, and all that."

She got laughter for an anwser as Vlad stepped back, finally letting go of her. He lowered the bottle, opened it and took a sip.

"Now I'm actually considering to ignore the request", Vlad said, still laughting. "Image the face of your queen when she hears that one of her personal underlings managed to screw up at the task of asking someone for a meeting! Ah, I would pay to see that expression."

Now the Forsaken looked frightened. It was true, queen Sylvanas had little tolerance for failure, and something as embarrassing as this affair could easily result in execution.

"You can't do that! I would get in serious trouble!" Even a distorted, undead voice could make despair audible, it seemed.

After letting her fear sink in for another couple of moments, Vlad decided not to follow this line of thought.

"Relax, I agree to this meeting. Lead the way. Lead me into a trap and I swear that you will be the first to die. Who are you, by the way?"

"Dark Ranger Loralen." She would never have admitted it, but Carstein caused fear in her like only very few things did. She wondered how this was possible, since while he was a physical danger, he was otherwise a regular living human. Or was he? Slowly, Loralen began to see why her queen might be interested, however, she did not show that as she lead him downstairs.

The party was coming to an end, many guests had left, but those still there appreciated the relative calm. With Loralen leading the way, Vlad returned his attention to a potential ambush. How could he react properly in the case of such an event? He worried little for his safety, beimg able to trust in his ability to tear attackers limb from limb when necessary, with offensive magic as the backup option. But how would explain the resulting bloodbath to the guards when these would arrive? No sane person would believe that a single unarmed man would be able to fight of, let's say, four or five armed and trained assassins. At least, not without unnatural assistence.

When Loralen opened the door of the salon and announced his presence, he was still in doubt. When he entered and saw the person inside, his doubts vanished.

The room was quadratic, each side about six meters long. A low table surounded by armchairs and sofas filled most of it out, and the cool nightly air came in through an open window on the opposite side of the door. Green carpets covered most of the stone floor, and the chimney was cold as the current users had no need for warmth.

Sylvanas Windrunner, queen of the Forsaken, was sitting in one of the armchairs and looked at Loralen and Vlad as they entered. Everything in her posture showed calmness and confidence, the demeanor of a true leader. She rose up and extented her hand as Vlad stepped in, while Loralen bowed silently and took position in the corner left of the door.

"So you are the new hero to rise at the shore? And you are brave enough to come here?" The queen's tone was mocking, and while her voice had some of the lyrical sound of her old accent left, the somewhat howling undertone of her banshee time was clearly audible.

"Who would I be to decline your invitation, your majesty?" Vlad stepped forward, bowing slightly and kissing the extented hand. "This is both a time and place at peace, is it not?"

Her expression changed, first to suprise, then to a knowing grin. "You are extraordinary. You do not only willing to touch, but even to kiss undead flesh. I must admit that your devotion to courtly protocol is astonishing."

 _Damned, I am an idiot_ "To return the compliment, your majesty, you are a beauty by all standards, and compared to most undead, you could be a goddess. No need for disgust if you ask me."

Sylvanas rose an eyebrow. "That is an atypical view for the Alliance."

"I'm me, not the Alliance. But I have to ask: What has brought me the honor of your attention?"

"Your sudden rise to prominence, a rise from nothing. And the fact that the story you gave to SI 7 is utter nonsense and you were not sentenced for this. There is something massively rotten in your career, and while I don't know what it is, I know that there is something. But as long as you don't act against the Horde, we can be friends. Consider it a favour that I will treat the matter with discretion." A conspiratorial smile appeared on her face.

A mirror version of this smile appeared on Vlad's face. "And as a man of standards, I owe you a favour in return. Very well, your majesty. I do hope that this is only the begining of a long and mutually benefical friendship." He rose the still half-full bottle. "I would toast on our imminent victory, but I had enough liquor for a day and must return to my quarters. It was a pleasure to meet you, your majesty."

He got an answer in elvish, and while he was unable to translate it, it clearly was something similar. So he turned around and left. By the standards of talks with someone who suspected foul play, this could be considered a smashing sucess.

* * *

The effects of a pet were entirely new to Sintharia, but she loved them anyway. She had awoken in the middle of the night when Mr Bigglesworth had begun to lick her cheek.

"You're hungry? Me too. Let's see if we can find something tasty so late in the night."

She picked the cat up, very carefully as she sensed an impressive cluster of protective spells. Vlad seemed to be very worried for this cat, and after being comforted by Mr Bigglesworth, she would not let him be harmed.

The cat in her arms, she took the stairs down to the guest room. It was nearly empty, with only a single staff member on his night shift.

"Is there anything available to eat at this late hour? Meat, especially?"

The waiter had an annoyed look on his face. "Unless you like your food raw, there is nothing. Its past midnight."

"That will be no problem. Give me some beef and I will take care of the rest."

Despite giving her an incredulious look, the waiter brought Sintharia a plate of raw beef as she sat down in a corner, Mr Bigglesworth on her lap. The smell of fresh meat woke an instinctive desire to devour it as it was, but this was the wrong place. Instead, she quickly roasted it with magic, spreading the delicious smell in the empty room. A dagger swifly split the large chunk into small parts, which were quickly reduced in number, and both Sintharia and Mr Bigglesworth enjoyed evry minute of it.

After finishing their meal, they simply stay at their table, unwilling to move. And so they still remained when Vlad arrived nearly an hour later and silently took a seat. No one spoke a word, with Vlad occasionally running his fingers through Mr Bigglesworth's soft fur. More time past like that, all of them drawing some comfort from being together. The past had been harsh, and while only one of them had lost someone in the last few days, they all felt that they were mourning some lost loved ones.

Sintharia finally broke the silence, after quick glance showed her that they were indeed alone, the waiter having left his post. "Who have you lost? You hide it under a cheery demeanor, but I can see that you miss someone."

Vlad shifted his gaze to place far away and a time long past. "I never had much luck with relationships. The person I miss most is, or was, my first true love. My Neferata. For all my charm, I was lucky to get her attention. And later, the feeling of love became mutual and stayed like that for centuries. The best time of my life, or unlife to be fair. It was Neferata who created to spells for my current condition, and we spread it amongst our friends. And then that bastard Alcadizar happened."

Vlad stopped for a few seconds, eyes burning with hatred. "My wife fell for him, and to make matters worse, he was fundementally opposed to undeath. He fled, breaking Neferata's heart and mind, only to return decades later with a mighty host. Our city, Lamia, burned, and all who survived fled to far corners of the world. I never saw Neferata afterwards, although our followers crossed blades more than once. A few hundred years later, I met my second flame, Isabella. After the time I spend thinking, I can now see that falling for her was a mistake I made, she could not handle immortality. Not that I cared at that time. But when I died in battle, more than four hundred and fifty years ago, she killed herself too."

Vlad took another sip form the bottle. "Sometimes, I wish that alcohol would still work on me. Anyway, that was an overview of the mess of my emotional life. Your turn."

Sintharia was far from comfortable talking about her messed up past, but it would only be fair to do so.

"Well", she began, already bracing against the havoc recalling these events would bring to her mind, "I was a consort to one of the five aspects, the dragon leaders tasked with protecting this world. A cozy life with a loving family, till the first war against the demons began. My aspect, Neltharion, went insane after several beings known only as the old gods used the desperate situation as leverage against his mind. His madness infected all those close to him, including me, and turned him into a demonic monstrosity. We then betrayed the other flights, causing deaths beyond count. Afterwards, Neltharion, who had been in love with almost my entire life, raped me, leaving me scarred and even more insane. I cared not when all those I had loved died, focusing instead on cruel magical experiments and plans for world conquest. I was one of the last of my kind to die, death broke the grip of corruption on my mind, and you know the rest." Her voice was cold, seemingly devoid of all emotion,

The silence returned as they both thought of the horrors of the past. Then, Vlad took put the goblets once more and filled both. He rose up, raising hos drink, and Sintharia mirrored the gesture. "To the ghosts of our loged ones. May we reunite soon, and may they haunt our foes till then."

* * *

They were very close now, and they knew more about their prey. So were the good news. The bad part was that the more they knew about their target, the more they feared the encounter. Some the local ogres had already crossed path with the target, and had paid with their lives. Velonara had studied the corpses with great care, determined to learn as much as possible. It had not been much. Some bodies had been torn apart by dark magic, others crushed by blunt force, and some had been burned. It matched the findings at the portal, and now those with a keen sense for magic could feel the source of the recent carnage in these mountains. Up north, still moving, only a couple of miles ahead. Velonara could only guess at what this creature wanted in the Netherstorm, but spying was not her task at hand. She had to take this enemy down, and she could only wonder how to do so with minimal casulties.

The Scourge was in trouble, and the source of the problem was the Lich King. Everybody in Icecrown knew it, even if most did not dare to think about it to much. Most of their elite forces were kept in the citadel, while those outside were destroyed piecemeal. Nobody knew why the Lich King was losing on purpose, but as they were bound to his will, they could do nothing. Kel'Thuzad might have been able to influence his master, but he was dead and Arthas was to apathetic to bring him back. Sindragosa had learned a lot since her mind was free, and so she knew that the Scourge high command was at the brink of rebellion, even if they knew about their chances.

Why? The question returned and stayed unanswered. Enemy forces were closing in, and the Lich King had promised a victory at Wrathgate. And yet, there had been no further preparations. At this point, most sentient beings in Scourge would have defected to the Forsaken or tried to overthrow their ruler, but without a truly free will, they could not do so.

The situation of the frost brood could also be a lot better. While Sindragosa had carefully freed the minds of her kin, she was unable to fully sever their connection to the Helm of Domination. Doing so would have alerted Arthas, who would then be able to reestablish his control. Her own connection was cut completly, and this made Sindragosa just as happy as it scared her. How mighty would the owner of the voice she had heard have to be in order to pull this of, without the Lich King noticing non the less? It was insane, but it seemed to work just fine.

Come to think about Icecrown, how had the citadel even been build? Why had the other flights let it happen? The construction had surely taken years and would have been vunerable to any sort of airborne force. The frost brood was younger than the fortress, so what had kept the other flights from bombing this place back into the wasteland it once was?

Her insticts told her that the coming battle for the gate would be the deciding factor. All signs pointed to the Scourge losing, and a lot could happen in the chaos of an army collapsing. Many would already fall, another few losses might slip past the attention of all involved. Even a king might not survive a mess like that...

* * *

Power. Raw magical power in quantities most people could only dream of. So much that it changed the very nature around. Not thay there was much nature left here, but the remains all bore the mark of this overwhelming magical saturation. In some eyes, those of Azarneth included, this gave the region known as the Nether Storm a strange beauty. For others, it was a nightmarish hellscape.

It was the right place. What better site could there be to contact the inhabitants of the twisting nether?

His plans would usually need a ritual or at least a summoning circle. But these were no usual circumstances. After another quick gaze over the terrain, he picked the next of the many small ravines for his call. He made his way down, unhindered by the darkness ans the many sharp rocks. Soon, he might be able to shed his mortal disguise once more. But not yet.

The words of the spell again to flow, and the magic around him reacted. More energy was needed, and so he opened his own reserves. A call was send between the planes, and soon it would be answered. Calling beings from other planes was often described as foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst, but Azarneth knew this to be only half true. It all came down to scaring the creature called than it scarred you, and of course, there was no room for false confidence here.

The call would also be heard by any mage within a dozen miles or more, but Azarneth cared not. If anyone was brazen enough to try and disrupt him, it would just be another distraction to be enjoyed.

Velonara and her rangers were among those you felt the sudden outburst of magical activity. The center of this surge was only about a mile to the east. This was their best shot, attacking while they prey was weakened, focused on the spell and before any escape attempts were possible. If their target would get away know, it might take to long to get back on the track.

The call reached out and was indeed answered, yet the one called upon was less than pleased about the hole affair. Calling on him without a sacrifice was a slight beyond tolerance, and the caller would pay with his life. On the other side, Azarneth watched as the demon materialized, first as s shadow, then as blurred picture and finally in a physical form. Twenty feet tall, with hooves, batlike wings and curved horns, the dreadlord manifested, clad in red plate armor, claws ready and with a furious expression. An expression that changed swiftly as the demon saw who had summoned him.

"Is that how you greet an old friend, Tichondrius? You seem to have gotten a little grumpy", Azarneth said in a casual tone.

Tichondrius had regained his composure, only a short flare of light in his red eyes betraying his anger.

"Why have you summoned me, Azarneth? You know how busy I am." The demon had adapted now, being calm and soft spoken, in a way so unlike his physical appearence. Or his mind.

"To make it short: What we feared to be possible was happened. My master has set his eyes on Azeroth too."

It took Tichondrius a few seconds to stomach the new. "So we are at war. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you, old friend. I would like for you to avoid harm if possible."

"When will your agents arrive on Azeroth?"

"The first are already in play. More might be on the way, but I can't be sure as of now."

"Sorry Azarneth, but I have to inform my superiors about this. If I don't, well you know what will happen then. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Remember that my master is always recruiting, if you want to defect. As for me, I have heard of black dragons in Draenor. Do you know where they are?"

Tichondrius seemed relieved at the question. "Some where sighted in the eastern Blade's Edge Mountains. Excuse me, but I really have to leave." With these words, the nazrezim vanished in the flash of his own teleportation spell.

A few hundred meters away, Velonara ducked back behind a rock as the demon left. This was a new level of bad news, and high command had to be informed. A messenger was dispatched, while the rest of the squad prepared. They knew that they were most liking going to die, but they were the elite and would not falter. The rocky terrain provided the cover, and the Dark Rangers would provide the arrows.


	8. Chapter 7

AN: Apologies for the long pause, but I have returned and two chapters are finished. Enjoy.

* * *

The next morning came way to soon, but it had to be used. The feast would continue in the evening, but now was the time to prepare. Heralds had already spread the word that the offensive against Wrathgate would begin in two days, cutting the celebration short. Apperently, high command wished to capitalize on the sucess at Naxxramas. For the common troops, these days would be the last opportunity for a good time before descending into the frozen hell once more. As they all knew that there was no point in dying with a filled purse, it was a great time for tavern owners and the like.

Vlad left his inn early, looking for a weapon shop. The Scourge had show themself to be quite resilient, and a gun could provide a decent substitut for the magic had to forgo in his disguise. So he asked around, and got the recommendation of a dwarven gunsmith named Rugarg. His shop was two floor corner house, build from the same bright stone as the rest of Dalaran. _Interesting choice. Most dwarves could call it weak material._ The vampire had a certain fear of the bearded folk, for they were staunch foes of the undead, with iron determination and no small amount of skill. _Relax,_ he ordered himself as he entered, _even if they are similar, they are not the dwarves you knew_.

All manners of blackpowder weapons were visible, on a counter and hanging at the walls, an arsenal big enough to equip a company. The owner was behind his counter, busy with the inspection of a musket barrel. He rose his head as he heard the door, mustering Vlad with the look of an experienced quartermaster.

"Caught up with the world, good sir? It's always great to seem someone entering the world of progress. What is the kind of gun you need?" His voice was raspy, but friendly, reminisent of a grandfather.

"I can only say you what I expect of the right weapon. The actual choice is something I would leave to the expert."

"So? Tell me."

"It has to be usable with one hand, and it should put the target down in one shot, even if said target wears heavy armor."

The dwarf turned around and silently walked through a door behind his counter into his store room. Vlad could hear his search if he focused. The shopkeep returned shortly after, presenting Vlad with what appeared to be an oversized cross between a pistol and a blunderbuss.

"If you want one shot with massive power, look no further. And if you want to be really mean and your wrist can handle it, load it with a double dose of powder. I tell you, it will drop an ogre at ten meters at the first try."

Vlad took his time to examine the weapon. It was a flintlock, clearly well made, both metal and wood even and polished. Heavy, of course, and the barrel made out of adamantine. He was no expert on pistols, but he knew how to use one and could tell from the monstrous caliber that this beast would an equally monstrous recoil. No problem for his strength. Accuracy might be an issue, but one based in his lack of training. Not that precision was needed in his plans. All the weapon would have to do was to kill a target in melee range, not exactly a task requiring perfect aim.

"I take it and enough ammo for twenty shots", was all he had to say. He paid and left, stepping back into the morning light. It was still unpleasent, no matter how long he had tried to adapt to it. Too bright, biting his skin and eyes. What to do now? Finding no answer, he chose to return to the inn, wondering what his companion might be up to.

He found Sintharia in the common room again, apperently just done with her breakfast, Mr Bigglesworth on the bench next to her. Her eyes focused on him, and her look betrayed her sorrows. Talking about their respective pasts might have helped her to cope with her demons, but they still remained of course.

"I hope you had a nice night", he said as he sat down at the table.

"Better than most, thanks to him." She gestured towards Mr Bigglesworth. "And therefore thanks to you. So, what were you doing?"

"I tried to clear my thoughts and I bought a gun. As for these thoughts, I met Archmage Rhonin at the feast. He is interested in your magic skills, and expressed a wish to meet you."

Sintharia's expression darkened. "I hope you told him to shove his staff up his rear. No way I tell this upstart anything without tearing him apart."

Vlad smiled despite hearing the fury in her words. "I politely told him that you are unlikely to grant his request."

"Thanks, that is close enough for now. I must admit, I feel somewhat better after talking about the past. I didn't expect that."

"If it helps, we talk about it more later. For now, we should try to enjoy the rest as long as we can. The war will continue soon enough, and Icecrown will be worse than what we faced previously. And there was another strange encounter."

He told her about his meeting with Windrunner, and that the Banshee Queen was obviously on the right way to discovering his secrets. Sintharia, however, seemed not to worry much.

"Any investigation by her agents will take time, and even more since they have to act in secret. We will have left disguises behind by the time they find out anything relevant", she reasured him, noticing that these news made him more than a little nervous. Vlad hid it well, but she still sensed it. "What worries you so much?"

Vlad sighed. "When I met Windrunner face to face, I felt how dangerous she is. She was one of the few beings I really wouldn't want to fight unless there is no other way, as I can't be sure of my victory. It is a rare and frankly most uncomfortable feeling."

* * *

What to do? Sintharia was alone again, Mr Bigglesworth was asleep (on her bed) and Vlad had went to the feast to inform the Archmage that she declined his invitation. What to do now? The question returned once more, and she would have to find an answer. Just sitting in the inn would drive her insane, she need some sort of distraction. An idea came into mind, and since it was not without danger, it was exactly what she needed now.

"Tell me", she said to a waitress, "are their any parts in this city I should avoid? I'm only here for a short time."

The waitress paused for a moment. "To be honest, of course there are bad neighbourhoods..."

An hour later, Sintharia had found one of those rougher parts of the city. It was already darkening, and the first shady figures began to appear at corners and in dark alleys. It could be described as a walk through a gallery of criminal stereotypes: Brutish thugs, underdressed whores and sleazy dealers, most of which made no attempts to hide their activities. But to her suprise and frustration, nobody tried to pick a fight, at least not with her. What was going wrong? She was lonely and well clad lady in the worst part of town, and yet no one even tried to approach her, all seemingly minding their own business. All he wanted was to let off some steam, and this miserable city made even that harder than it had any right to be.

After walking around for about fifteen minutes, she decided for a more direct approach. She simply walked over to the group at the next corner, a dealer and his hired muscle. As she came closer, the dealer took a step forward to greet her.

"Good evening, ma'am, is there something I can help you with?", he asked, clearly rather nervous. His two thugs seemed wonder whether they could draw their weapons or run for their lives.

In her suprise, Sintharia needed a moment ton answer, although it felt good to be able to command fear again.

"Well, yes, you could tell me why you are so nervous and why nobody comes near me."

The dealer could not supress the hint of smile at her obliviousness. "Because everyone with half a brain is scared shitless by you of course." Seeing her perplexed look, he elaborated further. "Only smart people and their subordinates are here. Harrassing customers is bad for business, and then there is you." He shrugged. "If a noble lady walks in here without half a dozen bodyguards, it either means she is crazy or she doesn't need them. You don't seem deranged, and you don't seem worried about your safety at all, which puts you in the second category. And while high self confidence can be foolish, no one here got here by taking unessecary risks"

Hearing that, Sintharia felt more than a little embarassed. Of course a would have to look fearful to attract those you preyed on the seemingly defenseless.

"So, what were you looking for? Not to disrupt business, I hope."

Sintharia sighed. "Honestly, I was bored and sought for a distaction."

The dealer thought about her words for a moment. "If you are looking for a fight, the fighting pit is in the cellar below the seventh house on the left side of this street."

That was defintively an option. Asking around seemed to pay off. "Thank you", she said while handing the dealer a few coins, "your advice is appreciated." She then turned to visit said fighting pit.

"Nice to have met you, ma'am", the dealer said before he and his thugs left. No need to stay here, as long the creepy woman was near.

More hired muscle guarded the entrace to the fighting pit, but seeing Sintharia approaching, they made way without a word being spoken. Now, the sounds of the audience and the fight itself could be heard, the unmistakeable sound of fists hitting flesh.

To the left, then down the stairs, and she was in crowd surounding the actual fighting space, where to unarmed men currently fought. Bets were placed by various watchers, and cheering errupted for every hit.

Not wanting to wait any further, she cast a spell to mask her face, then simply grapped the next watcher at the shoulder.

"Where do you sign up to fight?"

The man laughted and pointed towards a desk on the other side of the pit, where the righer ranking criminals sat.

She made her way through the crowd, pushing away everyone who did not free the way by himself. Another cheer errupted as one of the fighters finally dropped and stayed down.

"I want to fight tonight", he told the blonde woman behind the desk when she finally arrived.

"What weapon? Till death? You need to give me some details."

"Don't care in both instances. Just give me an opponent."

She got a strange look, but her request was granted. Half an hour later, it was her turn in the ring, facing a masked opponent, a sabre in hand. She had never thought much about weapon training, but she knew more than the basics and her physique would handle the difference.

Feeling strangely relaxed despite all circumstances, she decided to go first, lunging forward and striking at her target's thigh. Her foe dodged aside, countering with a thrust against her extented arm. She jumped back, barely avoiding the enemy sword, grapping a handful of sand as she landed. Her opponent was now careful, and they circled several times, both unwilling to risk entering the other's reach. Then Sintharia lunged once more, this time aiming for the left shoulder. As her dodged to the side again, she hurled the sand at his eyes and hit. Blinded, he could not avoid her next strike, a blow to the neck, decapetating him. As blood dyed the sand and a head hit the ground, a vicious grin appeared on her face. The night seemed to get good after all...

She left late in the night, leaving eight other opponents dead. After the second fight, she had placed bets on herself and had made quite a bit of money. Her rage had calmed down as she walked the dark streets again. Most of the lurking figures had already left, as the dawn would come soon and with it the city watch. Illegal activities were tolerated to some extent, but the city had to look good during the day.

Sintharia had nearly reached the inn when she sense that someone was shadowing her, a hooded figure, about a block behind her and now ducking behind a street corner. Sintharia cursed under her breath. It would be hard to deal with the figure now, without attracting unwanted attention. So she decided to play the oblivious, continuing the way to the inn, not looking back again. There would be a time to deal with prying eyes.

* * *

Vlad sighed as he left the violet citadel, glad to have gotten away from the party inside. It had been a remarkably boring evening, and after placing a few bottles in his pocket dimension, he had excused himself, claiming to have had too many drinks. And while this would be true if he would still be alive, it was but an excuse now. The Archmage had accepted the apology he had delivered for Sintharia, or at least he had claimed to accept it.

On the way to the inn, he wondered was Sintharia had done during his absence. He could only hoped for her to have avoided all trouble, f only because he feared detection. She would be safe as long as she didn't try to storm the citadel, and Vlad would have noticed such an attempt.

Then he suddenly heard a voice.

(You are one of the marked. Meet me in the northern park, we have to talk.)

A female voice, somewhat distorted. Vlad had jumped into cover, one had clutched around Blood Drinker, but there was no sign of any person nearby. A telepathic message then. He tried to reply, but found himself unable to locate the sender. (One way to learn the details), he fought as he turned in the direction of said park, mentally preparing both to fight and to flee. It would be relatively easy to turn to mist and escape into the sewers, and the park was not far from the citadel. Even if this was a trap, he only needed to cause a commotion and survive till the area was flooded with reinforcements.

The darkness reasured him as he closed in on the park, making sure to have the maximum amount of cover from the trees. He could not sense anyone following him, which could of course mean that any spies were simply very good at their chosen profession. He looked around again to ensure he wasn't watched, then he turned to mist and slipped into the bushes, moving closer towards the center of the park.

It was quiet here, only a few small critters were still busy. He swiftly moved forward, from cover to cover, all the time vigilant. The boots of a watchman could be heard in the distance, and a young couple passed him, both giggling and looking over their shoulders. Still no sign of anyone who looked waiting.

Then his sense picked up magic. His gaze darted around searching and finding the source. About thirty meters away, a woman appeared suddenly from behind a tree. She bore a resemblance to Sintharia's human form, with similar pale skin and the same regal posture, even though she looked on edge. Her hair was white, and if she stay still she could have been a marble statue, were it not for icy blue eyes and a blue dress. One could only envy proper shapeshifters, being able to take whatever beautiful form they wanted. It was however impolite to keep a lady waiting, so he left his cover for a place out of her field of view and turned back into solid form before approaching her.

Sindragosa had been barely able to believe her luck. The Lich King had retreated to his chambers, paying no attention to his minions. So she had slipped away, to Dalaran, in order to seek her supposed allies. If they were approaching with the invaders, the chances to find them there were not bad, and she had few other options. All the way, she feared to be called back, her desertion discovered, but nothing happened as she landed in an park, polymorphed into a bird. She had felt an aura she remembered from her talk to her new lord, but her telepathic calls had not been answered. She waited, hoping that the message had at least reached its goal.

(You can't wait here as bird), she reminded herself, (you need to catch some attention). So she assumed human form, nervously glancing around, fearing to be discovered. A single watcher could be silenced, but if the Kirin Tor were to arrive, things would go downhill swiftly. An individual mortal mage posed little danger, but if this went wrong, there would be units, not individuals to fight. (Calm down, dammit, no alarms, so calm the fuck down!)

Immidiately after changing, she felt the marked presence closing in, prompting to spin on her heels, ready to fight should this be foul play. The person she called cams into view, a man in plate armor, tall, handsome, with very pale skin and shoulder length black hair, a sword at his side. A death knight? Not far of stretch, but she didn't recognize him, and she knew at least the upper ranks of a parts of the Scourge He seemed to be just as nervous as she was, which calmed her a bit. As he approached, she took note that he moves completely silently, even with his heavy armor. Time for introductions, it seemed. She stepped forward and extented a hand.

"Sindragosa, head of the frost brood, recently freed by our lord."

He bowed down slightly and kissed her hand. "Vlad von Carstein, pleased to meet you", he said, his voice suprisingly soft, but it was the kind of voice that could hard as steel if need be.

"So you are one of two send here to take Arthas down. If I may ask, how would you do the deed?"

"Well", Vlad began to explain, "Since Alliance and Horde will assault Wrathgate soon, we planed to be at the front and hoped the Lich King would show up. We would then attack, with as much support as possible. With you now on the inside though, there is a lot more potential. Tell me, what has the Lich King planed for the battle to come?

Sindragosa could only sigh. "I can't be sure, bit the Lich King seems to have no interest in this war. He promised a personaly led victory, but has lost the trust of his underlings. He hoards many of his best troops in Icecrown, but has not made any preparations to use them. But it is not unlikely for him to face a foe at his doorstep in person."

A pause lasted for a few moments as Vlad considered the news. "If that is the case, you have to ensure that the Lich King can't flee once the battle is underway. Cut of his retreat. Any other assistance you can provide is great, but be careful. We will need your strength once Horde and Alliance find out what happens."

Sindragosa rose an eyebrow. "How do you come to think me capable of cutting of the Lich King's path?"

"I recognize a shapeshifer with I see one." Vlad smiled. "I'm sure you have no small amount of personal might, and and know how to use it properly." He paused for a moment. "I assume you have to return to Icecrown soon, is there something else to discuss now?"

"No, the plan stands. Just tell your collegue not to target me in the coming battle."

"How will we recognize you?"

"Just look for the largest frostwyrm in sight", she said with a faint smile as they parted ways. This had gone better than expected. Quite an interest person, this Vlad...

* * *

The night had been long, and it had resulted in failure, an failure to be corrected in short order before the opportunity would be lost, maybe forever. Loralen could only curse her underlings, as those had been incapable to keep track of Carstein and Winters. One team had lost Carstein in the northern park, after he had suddenly turned to go there. How could trained rangers even lose a single man in park, a man clad in plate even? She knew her subordinates well enough, they were usually fairly competent. But this... The team set on Winters had been slightly more sucessful, but after following her into an underground bloodsport event, they had lost visual contact in the crowd and were unable to find her again. This was more forgiveable, she was a mage after all.

Still, they had to be found again, her queen would not tolerate failure for long. But were had they gone? If they had fled the city, any search might take weeks, weeks the Forsaken could not spare. And if they were up to something, it might be devasting. Loralen was currently pacing up and down in her office, thoughts shifting back and forth, trying to find a way out of this mess.

 _Both of them are dangerous and hide something, Their stories for SI 7 are horseshit, and Carstein is way to relaxed around the undead. But what are they? Demon followers? The Cult of the Damned? More likely the latter. They are up to something, I can feel it. Now they hid or fled, and I need prove to take them down, But how can I get something on them?_

 _Their rooms. Maybe something is left in the inn where they stayed._ She immidiately summoned a full squad, secrecy taking a back seat for swift action. If two individuals beloved by many common soldiers were exposed as spies, there would be no diplomatic incident, there would be a celebration of coalition spirit between the Forsaken and Stormwind. And they were to dangerous to risk them being conspirators and let allowing them to escape.

Those already out on the streets in the early morning quickly made way for the squad, scurrying into obscurity to avoid the ire of half a dozen of the best the Forsaken had to offer. Thankfully, the way was short, and they entered the building only a few minutes after leaving Loralen's office. The innkeeper made no effort to protest as they stormed up the stairs, securing the upper floor. The squad split, one to guard the stairs, three men to search one room and two to assist Loralen in searching the other one, all a routine. Lockpicks were put to use and both doors opended simultaniously, allowing the Dark Rangers in. This was the moment when things went wrong.

Loralen could see the other team in the corner of her eye. As they entered, a figure step in from the side and bashed the first ranger over the head with the flat side of a sword, sending her to the ground. But Loralen could not focus on the other team. As the door in front of her opened, it revealed no empty room. Instead, they now saw lady Winters, dressed only in her underwear, with a heavy staff in her hands and an expression of pure fury on her face. Their eyes locked, and Loralen stared into the fires of hell. Fighting a powerful mage in close quarters without preparations was one of the worst possible situations to be in, and she had charged right into this one.

But instead of sending out a cone of flame or frost, Winters charged forward, her staff hitting the first ranger in the chest. The cracking sound of breaking rips filled the air as the first casualty hit the floor. Loralen dodged the next swing, but Winters redirected it against the shoulder of Loralen's last team member. Again, steel shattered bone and another body went down. Jumping back into the corridor, she saw that the other team had been defeated, the two ranger still standing kept in check by Carstein, one with a blade at the throat, the other looking into the barrel of an oversized pistol. Seeing no chance to win this, Loralen dropped her barely drawn shortsword and dagger. "We surrender", she stated as calmly as she could for now.

The others had been sent away, carrying their two comrades who would need the attention of an apothecary. Loralen, Carstein and Winters were now alone in the room Winters had slept in, and while things seemed more civil now, it was clear that Loralen had not made any friends with her last action. She stood in the center of the room, Carstein was sitting in chair to her left, the pistol on his lap, and Winters had placed herself on her bed, one hand resting on her staff. Both threw glares at Loralen, glares able scare of an angry bear.

"Tell me, why exactly did you break into our rooms with half a dozen of your cronies?" Winters spoke in a calm, casual tone, but the fury in her eyes and the way her fingers closed around her weapon did more than enough to show her mood. Loralen was already sure that this mage was utterly insane, and had no desire to know how far this madness went. A mage charging into melee was already abnormal, but a mage winning a melee against several opponents, even suprised ones, was downright frightening.

No way around the truth. Lying in this situation could spell her doom, and she was not sure if she was able to come up with a sufficiently convincing lie. Or how good those two were at readimg people. She sighed.

"After you both shook of the agents shadowing you after making sudden and suspicious turns in your ways, I thought you to be running, fleeing the city to pursue your treacherous goals elsewhere. I came here to search your rooms for any hints regarding the extent of your conspiracy."

"Enlighten me", Carstein began, "what conspiracy do you think we are part of?"

"If I knew that, I would not have tried to find clues. But the stories you told SI 7 are horseshit, you have never been heard of before despite your skill, and you both are way to comfortable among the undead. You are obviously not what you pretent to be."

This caused Carstein to chuckle. "Is anyone truly what he claims to be? I'd wager that we all got our little secrets."

Winters continued, still in this unnatural causal tone. "And if we were your classic Alliance truehearts, you would not be here now. The remains of you and your squad would be presented to both our high command and the Kirin Tor, as proof of an Horde attempt to assassinate us. Dead bodies can't deny such accusations, can they?"

"I guess that is true. What now?" Loralen felt how panic began to rise inside her.

"Well, the only witness is the inn keeper, who can certainly be made to forget this morning, should he find some loose coin on his counter. As for you, I suggest you find an excuse to present to your superiors. And that you never try something like this again." Winters smiled the kind of smile that would make a posessed serial killer envious.

Glad to get away without further trouble, Loralen accepted the terms and left. Fled the scene might have been a more accurate describition, but that didn't matter. Hopefully, she would never get so close to this insane mage again.

* * *

After watching the wannabe spy leave, Sintharia and Vlad remained silent, waiting for their tension to fade. Both were soon lost in thought, trying to make sense out of their current situation. Both also used the opportunity to observe each other, although they only did so in quick glances to avoid causing discomfort.

(I have to admit it, I do feel some affection towards him. Not in the way I felt towards Neltharion, but still... What is happening to me? I pick fights in some illegal establishment, and I feel attracted to an undead. Have I lost my mind? Again?) She cursed in silence. (I'm sure that what I feel is not true love, at least not now. What am I thinking?! I didn't think in such flowery terms for centuries!)

But was the point of lying to oneself? There was no way to remove emotions, only to control them. Yet this opened another question: Was trying to keep these feelings suppressed the right way? Any lapse concentration could prove devasting, but what would be more harmful to her ability to focus?

She was so busy with her thoughts that she only realized her companion leaving when the door fell shut behind him. This was the last day here in Dalaran, the offensive would be resumed on the next day. It was valueable time, to be spend well. She would have to sort her internal confusion by tomorrow, and it would not be easy.

The first part of the day had been a mess, and Vlad could only be glad for it to be over. How hard could it be to find some drunken and lonely fool in a city this big? Not easy and fairly time consuming, as it turned out. It had taken him till early afternoon to find his prey, and said prey's blood was thin and had tasted miserably. But had done its job.

There were no real plans for the day, but his mind had little time to relax. Vlad had seen how Sintharia had looked at him after the business with Loralen, and while he found it intriguing and Sintharia to be more than a little attractive, she was also quite frightening. He did not love her, not in the way he felt for Neferata and later Isabella, but he was attracted to her, no doubts about it. If she was too, this could be a good day in the end. Or a living nightmare if their feelings were different and incompatible. If she was frightening now, she was utterly terrifying if angry. Vlad had not forgotten her attack on the Borgwens, and he had absolutely no desire to become a target for her wrath.

He spend the rest of the day in one of the several libraries scattered across the city. To ease his restless thoughts, he found a topic of interest and drowned them in it. A few eyebrows were raised at an armored warrior reading books on magical theory, but no one paid much attention to it. Dalaran had a reputation as a strange city, and strange places bring out the strange sides of people just as much as they attract strange people.

When he returned to his room, the final preparations had to be finished. If things proceeded as planed, he would not come back here anytime soon, so everything left here would he lost. His possessions were mostly already stored in his pocket dimension, but not everything. The difficult part would be to convince Mr Bigglesworth to enter it, as most beings were instinctively opposed being stuck in place outside of their plane of existence.

In the end, it took a lot of talking, some hynosis and a copious amount of treats to make the cat step into the small portal, but it was warm in there, with enough food for weeks. Mr Bigglesworth was unlikely to like it, but he was safe and secure.

Hearing steps in the corridor outside, he instinctively reached for his weapon, wondering if this meant that their cover was blown. Or had SI 7 heard of the events this morning and decided to investigate? Listening closer, it became clear that only one person was outside, and Vlad relaxed somewhat. Then this person knocked at his door.

"Come in," he said loud enough to heard outside, one hand still on his sword. The door opened, and Sintharia came in and closed the door. Vlad could of course make assumptions about her intentions, but knowing was preferable to assuming.

"What brings you here in this late hour?

She took her time to answer, speaking slowly, considering every word. "Do you remember our stay in the tavern in Stormwind? You told me how many people try to escape unpleasent thoughts."

Vlad would have blushed if he had been able to. "I remember it, how I lost my patience." He became more nervous, but didn't reveal it.

"And you apologized. You see, I try to face the memories haunting me, and bottleling up is no solution. I spend most of the last night in a fighting pit, and it was helpful, but way too risky. Drugs are no option, both because they limit the mind and because I would need a dosis able to kill most people."

She stepped closer, so close that Vlad could feel her warm breath and smell the faint hint of ash it carried. "Which leaves me with the option of seeking blissful oblivion in the arms of someone else. You too suffer from old memories. I like you, although I can't honestly claim to love you, at least not now. Would you be willing?

Vlad seemed lost in thought for a short while. "I like you too, and maybe love might come in due time. As for seeking solace, yes, I am willing."

She kissed him, and he replied in kind, hesitant at first, then passionate. Quickly they worked together to get rid of Vlad's armor, and once that was done, normal clothes were no obstacle. Holding each other, they sank onto the bed.


	9. Chapter 8

Wrathgate. A name to strike fear into the hearts of those who approached it, and when it came into view, its architecture delivered on this promise. Saronite walls with cruel, blade like crenelations blocked the valley connecting Dragonblight and Icecrown, the gate itself designed to look like the fanged maw of some gigantic beast. The forces invading Northrend had gathered for the next push, more than twenty thousand soldiers for the first assault. Portals had been created in Dalaran, the only way to move such a force through the frozen wasteland, and now the units were in position, just barely a mile from the gate. Highlord Bolvar Fordragon had been placed in command over the Alliance troops, with lady Jaina Proudmoore as his second. The Horde contingent was led by highlord Saurfang, and it seemed as if the commanders were able to trust each other for the time being.

Vlad and Sintharia were placed in the front of the left Alliance wing, a doubtful honor reserved for troops who were considered elite, but not particularly liked. So once again a position for mercenaries, those who would not be missed when they inevetable suffered massive losses. At least they were close enough to the center, where the commanders prepared to face Arthas himself should he descent on the battlefield.

 _I hope this works. Our side is well equipped and trained, but if we face any sort of solid counter offensive, we will be wiped out. ._ Sintharia could only sigh, probably thinking in similar lines. _If this does go south, we still have her true form. Not exactly subtle, but a good last resort option_. This whole plan was based on the assumption that the Lich King would actually show up. No siege engines were usable in the deep snow, and those who might be had not arrived yet. If the Scourge chose to simply wait and crew their fortifications, this entire operation would have to be canceled.

But common sense and basic military tactics had not been shown by the Scourge as of now, except for the battle at the shore, and this seemed not to change. Had the Horde faced solid resistance during their offensive? To late to ask that question now. An army was waiting in front of the gate, all manners of the undead, but the walls and skies were suspiciously empty. The host in front of them was deployed in a classical manner, reanimated corpses serving as shields for the more valueable creatures behind them. But this basic strategy seemed to be the height of military competence displayed by the enemy. They did not even charge immidiately, waiting instead till the attackers had assumed their positions. Only then did they advance, a shambling wave of rotting flesh and exposed bone.

Orders were yelled through the ranks as the enemy closed in, those with ranged weapons took positions while casters prepared their spells. The firing order was given, and thousands of triggers were pulled along the line and hundreds of arrows were let loose. Arrows, bolts and bullets tore into the advancing Scourge, wrecking havoc among their first lines. Those who had fired knelt down, allowing the next rank to fire. The battle had begun.

* * *

The volume of fire was too low to stop the onslaught. Vlad saw this as soon as the first shots were fired. From his own experience, he knew how hard it was to stop an undead horde, as they would charge headfirst into certain doom without hesitation. And while the troops of the empire had managed to destroy his own undead hosts at range more than once, the force he was part of lacked the massed artillery necessary to do so. Their high number of mages was a blessing, but few of them would match the destructive potential of a great cannon, and even fewer would be able to keep doing so for any length of time. The Empire had also used a much higher amount of blackpowder weapons, and it was a known fact that arrows in particular struggled with putting the walking dead down

And so the lines collided shortly after, steel blades bitting into shambling horrors, claws and teeth reaching out for warm flesh. Dozens died within a few seconds, and the lines of the living began to bend, but didn't break. Time to do his part.

Vlad stepped into the first rank, cutting down mindless puppets left and right and splattering their rotten parts in all direction. The first undead were always the easiest, they were meatshields after all. But even meatshields could be danger in large numbers, even more so since they feared nothing and would never tire. Bisecting another ghoul, he managed to glance back, seeing Sintharia close behind him, currently in the process of smashing skelettons with her staff. No magic was needed to deal with vermin, and they would need all their reserves for when the proper fight would begin.

Sadly, not everyone in this army had the blessings of dark magic or supernatural strength. The elites held their position easily, but the regular rank and file started to take losses. Now, red blood joined its corrupted purple counterpart in dying the snowy ground.

 _Sad for them,_ Vlad corrected himself while slicing more zombies to bits. Every loss for Horde and Alliance was one enemy less when this mission was complete

Then the bigger undead reached the front. Dozen of bodies were hurled around like rag dolls when the Vrykul and abdominations crashed into the tight formations, their weapons scything through armor and bodies like parchment as they roared their fury into the sky. The huge creatures and golems ignored the swords and spears that were delivered into their bodies, each one of them taking enough wounds to kill a dozen men and still fighting one. They were not invunerable, but for those without the benefit of a well coordinated unit or supernatural abilities, they might very well be.

Now it was the time for magic, time to go all out. Vlad covered Sintharia as she went to work, sending waves of fire into the enemy ranks while he dispatched everything approaching her. They began to make their way towards the center, less than two hundred meters to the east, which now seemed an endless distance. Then the wind began to howl, and hundreds of magical sparks were felt by every mage nearby. Sparks of necromancy, buried below them.

* * *

Arthas had taken the field, apperently willing to take personal action. Sindragosa watched him from the wall as he charged out of the gate, followed by more constructs, casting spells as he advanced. Just yesterday, a few steps had been taken to prepare the battlefield, hundreds of corpses had been buried in the snow. The Lich King's plan was to raise those dead while summoning a snowstorm, allowing him to challenge the enemy leaders while their army was thrown into chaos. Not a terrible plan, but far from enough. Sindragosa shook her head as she thought of all the other options wasted. Artillery could have been zeroed in on the whole valley, avalances could have been triggered to bury the enemy alive and achieving total air superiority would be child's play for the frostwyrms stationed in the citadel.

The snowstorm engulfed the valley, but the eyes of a frostwyrm could see through ice and snow as if they were glass. She searched for the two beings marked for her by her new lord, and found them after a few minutes. They had been chosen well, both were working closely together as they cut and burned their way towards the center. Von Carstein showed great skill with a blade, but it was the woman in his company that made Sindragosa most curious. This woman was a dragon in human disguise, no doubts about it. And from the black flight, if her magic was to be believed. An interesting development, and one that worried her greatly. This other dragon had to be watched closely, till she was proven to be trustworthy. If this could even happen with a member of the corrupted flight.

Even within the very first moment, it was clear that the snowstorm was doing its work. Blinded, fragmented and unable to hear their own voices in the wind, many of living lost their nerve began to hack and stab at everything nearby, even their own comrades. Using ranged weapons was now impossible, and if mages had trouble concentrating before, their troubles were now doubled. Far from a bad idea, Sindragosa had to admit. Even if he was insufferable and lost his war on purpose, one could not deny that Arthas knew how to play some of his cards right.

* * *

The snow made it impossible to see further than two or three meters, but magical sight took care of that problem. All undead had an easy detectable aura of necromancy, and all they had to do was advancing on the largest concentration of necromantic energy. If it was he Lich King, they would find their target, and if not, they could still throw the enemy into chaos by disrupting their command structure. So they headed towards the nexus of dark magic, and were soon suprised as they walked out of the swirling snow into an area of calm air, like the eye of a hurricane. It was shaped like an arena, round with a diameter of about forty meters, and it became obvious why it was there.

One the southern edge of this empty field, Fordragon, Saurfang and Proudmoore had taken positions, weapons leveled at the huge figure that stepped into the arena from the north.

Arthas. The Lich King himself. Just as planned and just as feared.

They placed themself close to the others, Sintharia staying back with Proudmoore while Vlad joined the line of Fordragon and Saurfang. Vlad allowed himself a quick look on the faces of the others. Saurfang seemed eager, Proudmoore somewhat insecure but determined, while Fordragon showed a mask of grim resolve. Sintharia grinned viciously, and he himself hid his worries behind a neutral expression.

The Lich King stepped forward, a hulking monster resembling a champion of the dark gods, twice the height of normal man and clad in plate armor, his legendary blade in his right hand, the left engulfed in magical energy. No gloating. He advanced silently safe for his footsteps, letting his looks and aura inflict more fear than than any spoken words. He was undeniably good at this, and certainly enjoyed every moment of it.

Without saying a word, Bolvar began to move as well, with Vlad at his left and Saurfang at his right. They spread out, ready to strike from different directions. No matter the dishonor, none of them had any illusions about fighting this foe alone. Behind them, Jaina and Sintharia readied their first volley.

It was this volley to break the silence, a hail of flaming projectiles and shadowbolts hammering into their target. The Lich King merely rose his empty hand, and the those spells aimed at the joints and other weakspots in armor dissapated, while those hitting plates showed no effect.

But even such a momentary distraction was all the fighters needed. They charged from three sides and put their blades to use. Arthas made no effort to parry, instead moving to make sure no weakspots in his armor were hit. The first blows caused no harm, glancing of the saronite plates, only some of them even leaving as much as a scratch in his armor.

The Lich King answered, swinging Frostmourne in a wide arc. His foes jumped back, unwilling to parry unless they had no choice. They all knew that even a perfect parry would be able to break their weapons. An unflinching juggernaut, the Lich King began his advance again, unbothered by the spells aimed at him and all attempts to strike him down. Again Frostmourne reached out, and again his foes made haste to dodge. But now, said foes knew what to aim at. The only person Vlad had ever met to fight five opponents of great skill with in both magic and melee with so little effort had been Nagash, and she felt his confidence fading at this very thought.

It was however Saurfang to draw first blood: ducking under another swing, he hooked his right axe in one of the serations of Frostmourne's monstrous blade, pulling himself back in to strike with his other axe. It bit into the Lich King's wrist, in the gap between bracer and gauntlet, drawing a small amount of foul purple blood. The Lich King was unfazed by this, but it was a beginning, and a proof that their foe could be wounded.

Saurfang managed to land a second hit, although it came at a price. Sacrificing one axe to Frostmourne in order to keep the runeblade at bay, he drove his remaining weapon into the hip of his opponent, and this time, the Lich King had to take a step back as more purple blood was spilled. Seeing an opening, Bolvar lunged forward and stabbed Arthas' left knee, causing the leg hit to give way for a moment.

A short term victory however, as in the same moment, Arthas struck with both hands and all his strength in swipe to cut down both Saurfang and the paladin. Both tried to get out of harms way, but while Bolvar managed to jump aside, Saurfang did so only partially. Frostmourne tore a gash in his shoulder, and while this was a wound most orcs would shrug of without more than a grunt, the unholy blade made a effort to snuff his life out like a candle. It did not suceed, but it came fairly close. Saurfang dropped into the snow, gasping for air and barely concious, one hand clutching the immidiately frozen wound.

They were loosing, and Vlad was all too aware of this fact. None of their attacks had inflicted lasting damage, and they would tire long before the Lich King would. They needed to turn the tide, but how? Vlad had two cards left to play, one of which might turn allies to foes. It was time to try the other one and hope for the best.

The Lich King struck at the paladin again while his other hand prepared a first offensive spell. This was the opportunity Vlad needed. As Bolvar dodged once more, Vlad drew his pistol and fired, aiming for the casting hand. Yet despite an adamantine bullet and a doubled powder charge, the weapon was unable to break this cursed plate. However, it certainly hurt and was enough to disrupt the spell Arthas was casting. But his smile froze on his lips, as with a flick of the injured hand, Arthas fired another spell at Vlad, who now had no way to stop it in time.

* * *

Jaina could only watch as Arthas fired his spell. A volley of iceshards the size of a human forearm was aimed at Carstein, and quite a few hit. Most where stopped by Carstein's armor, but two of them pierced his chest and he fell too. The spells aimed at Arthas were all deflected, even though Jaina felt his defense weakening. It didn't matter, they would all die before his defense broke.

Alone, Bolgar was no match for Arthas, and Arthas knew it. Frostmourne came down again and again, till Bolvar was unable to dodge. The strike shattered his shield, shield harm and half his ribcage, sending him to the ground, but it didn't kill him. Arthas began to laugh. He had purposefully used the flat side of the blade. Now he towered even more over his foes, raising Frostmourne for a finishing blow. Jaina noticed that he didn't use his left hand, the hand Carstein had shot at. Then Frostmourne came down at Bolvar, yet despite his wounds, the old paladin rolled to the side, and Frostmourne bit into the ground.

* * *

This was his chance, and probably the last one. Throwing all caution aside, Vlad charged in and swung Blood Drinker with both hands, aiming at Arthas' exposed elbow. He hit, and felt how his ancient weapon forced its way through chainmail and flesh till it was stuck in bone. But this was to be expected, like the chaos warlords he resembled, the Lich King's flesh was as tough as boiled leather and his bones where hard as steel. Wasting no time, Vlad gathered all the magical power he could muster into a single devasting bolt of energy, aiming at the injury he just caused. Arthas' magical defense, already strained, broke under the sudden third attacker and the bolt of darkness hit its mark, searing away the remaining flesh, tearing through bone and severing the limb. With its master screaming, Frostmourne fell into the snow, Arthas' right hand still clutching its hilt.

* * *

Jaina could barely believe her eyes as she saw Frostmourne fall. How was this possible? How had Carstein even survived? The two iceshards were still stuck in his chest, and each of the wounds inflicted was enough to kill a tauren. And how had he used magic? Her thoughts were interupted though as a blast of ice hit Arthas in the back.

* * *

Sindragosa had waited to play her part, and the time had come. The very moment a blade cut into his arm, the Lich King had called the constructs behind him into the fight, casting aside arrogance and honor in favour of pragmatism and survival. They never arrived as she crashed into them and tore them apart. Some tried to strike back, but the only one who managed to scratch her bones got his head and shoulders bitten of in return. Having dealt with his reinforcements, Sindragosa quickly fired her breath weapon at Arthas. He was wounded but still dangerous, with her new allies in his reach. No time to take chances.

* * *

The final blow came, and the picture of it was burned into Jaina's memory. An orb of pure blackness surounded by blue and purple flames. She could see it, as if the time had been slowed down to a tenth of its normal pace, as this projectile fired by lady Winters flew past her and through the open visor of the Helm of Domination and hit Arthas right in the eye. Then there was a bright flash of light as the spell vaporised his head. His body stood there for a moment, then death and decay claimed what should have belonged to them long ago. Arthas' body crumbled to dust, and his empty armor fell. But the Helm of Domination never reached the snow, as Carstein jumped forward and caught it in its fall. The artifact immidiately reacted, moving like quicksilver, a sight Jaina knew all to well. The artifact changed to find the desires of a new master.

"No!", she yelled, but before she could run forward, a gargantuan creature appeared in the snowstorm behind Carstein, a frostwyrm of immense size. As she hesitated, wondering how to deal with this beast, Carstein placed the Helm, which now looked more like a crown, on his head. A pillar of icy blue light errupted around him along with a sound like a thousand howling ghosts.

"What have you done?" The question came from Saurfang, who struggled to stand up again, but it was the question everyone here had.

"I did what I had to do, and now claim the spoils of war," Carstein replied, his formerly soft voice now harsh and commanding. As he spoke, he knelt down and reached for Frostmourne, despite the blade being nearly twice his size.

"Don't touch the blade!", Bolvar yelled as he fought for every breath. "It is cursed!"

"It is mostly an excellent weapon I intent to keep", was the calm answer. Carstein also picked up his old weapon, which also began to shift its form. "Retreat your forces. You shouldn't stay here, and death awaits you if you do."

"Traitor! I should kill you where you stand!" Bolvar managed to get to his knees, eyes brimming with rightous rage.

"Fool! The only thing you should do is having someone take care of your internal bleeding. But if you want a fight, go ahead." Carstein swung Frostmourne through the air, testing it balance. The runeblade had now finished its transformation, being now the perfect size for its new owner.

This was it. Neither Bolvar nor Saurfang were in any shape to fight, and while Jaina was exhausted too, she had some mana left. It was now her duty to stop this next aspiring madman. Yet as she began a spell to take the insane traitor out, she felt a dagger biting into her throat.

"Stop it or die", a voice hissed into her ear. Lady Winters. The other mage looked even worse of than Jaina, as she was breathing heavily and the only part of her body not shaking was the hand holding the dagger. She was clouded in the smell of of ash and sulfur, and despite her obvious exhaustion, the wrath in her eyes was unbroken.

Seeing his companion jumping into action, Carstein rose his voice again. "Are you forgetting how your troops are dying around you? I won't shed a tear for my puppets, but I don't think you wish to waste the lives of good soldiers. Retreat NOW and I promise you that forces won't pursue you."

Without a reply, Saurfang picked up Bolvar and began to walk back to where he thought his troops to be, admiting defeat but showing more common sense than the old paladin.

"You got her covered?", she heard Winters ask behind her ear. She wondered who had been asked, till the frostwyrm nodded. Slowly, Winters removed the dagger before walking over to Carstein. Then, they vanished into the swirling snow. The frostwyrm shot Jaina a glare before following them.

Later reports would show that more than eight thousand men had died in the chaos following the snowstorm, far to many by the hands of their own side after the panic and near blindness had taken hold. There were no numbers, not even estimates for the enemy losses, as many of them would return and counting the fallen was impossible. But the battle had undeniably been a disaster, and the news of the self coronation of a new Lich King would soon become public. Even nonmages had felt the massive surge of magical energy caused by this event, and leaving the explanation to the gossip would only erode the morale further.

* * *

As soon as the snow protected them from being seen, Vlad began to drain the life out of the closest mindless undead, healing his wounds Blood Drinker had not taken care of and leaving the rest for Sintharia, who used it the vigour lost in battle. Sindragosa had changed into mortal form, although this time, she wore plate armor instead of a dress and carried a halberd. Both of them slightly behind him, they walked through the open gate and into the corridors and halls of Icecrown.

The fight had been intense, and even one glance at Frostmourne had told him that it was able to kill him with a single blow. Now he was in possession of this weapon, anticipating the time he could spent studying it. But while it felt great as the tension of the fight faded, there were still things to be done. Dominating the blade and the Helm had not been easy, but he had suceeded and this was the only important part. The power he now held was nearly overwhelming his senses, he controlled more than twice the number of undead he had ever ruled over before. And with the Helm, it was seemingly a child's game to dominate even sentient undead. But mind control was not how Vlad wished to rule. Winning hearts and minds would be both more interesting and wield better results. With this in mind, he sent a call out to the remnants of the Scourge high command to meet him in the throne room, as he could now see all of the citadel through the eyes of its guards.. He also opened his pocket dimension, summoning a dozen grave guards to his site. He had no idea how Azarneth had gotten his hands on a whole company of them, but they were in this pocket dimension when he had received it. He sent four of them outside, ordering them to gather the Armor of the Damned. _Why would I waste such a useful and well crafted possession?_ The others took position around Sindragosa, Sintharia and him.

Despite some pain remaining from his wounds, he could not supress a triumphant smile, and he didn't try to. But it was not only his victory. He slowed his pace until he was between Sintharia and Sindragosa.

 _So this is what victory feels like_ , he thought and smiled at both of them. Sintharia grinned in return, and while Sindragosa looked a little nervous, she smiled too. _I really could get used to this._

He felt whole again, with no need to hide his magic, able to show his fangs and the glow of his eyes. The latter two were minor things, but it was still a chance to lower his guard without risk.

* * *

 _The watcher grinned at the scene, pleased with the results. Just as planned, a complete sucess. More death and destruction would have been nice, but that was always the case. **"Initiate phase two."** Two of the guards immidiately left for their missions. The watcher had planned this for years, detailed orders were unnessary as everyone here knew their part. Satisfyed, the watcher relaxed and absorbed some more damned souls. There was no need to do so, but the taste was always enjoyable._

* * *

AN: So the battle is over. I would like to thank those who took the time to review, please continue to do so. The next chapter should arrive soon.


	10. Chapter 9

AN (to guest): Well, yes, he screwed up due to being more than a little nervous.

* * *

Fear of the unknown was a feeling he had nearly forgotten, but now he learned to hate it again. He looked around in the throne room, at his collegues, and knew without asking that they all felt the same way. It was already uncommon for those gathered here to fear anything, but these were strange times. Their new master would arrive soon, and so everyone here braced for the possibility of disaster.

Anub'arak seemed to wonder if he should burrow himself into the ground. As a monstrous nerubian, he was worried that the new Lich King would consider him a beast and kill him immidiately. He still did his best stay calm, his arms crossed and his wings covered. Being comrades for a long time, it was hard not to feel sorry for him.

Lady Deathwisper and Gothik the Harvester were more relaxed, they were cult fanatics and would gladly die serving their master, no matter who that person happened to be. Now was maybe the first time someone envied them for their worldview. They both wore their standard robes and quietly talked to each other as if this day was perfectly normal.

Blood Queen Lana'thel made no effort to hide her weariness and nervousity, she was here for the shortest time and had not forgotten her former personality. If the new Lich King was vulnerable to female charms, she would have good chances to make it or even profit, but it was doubtful that she would even try that. Her council of blood was no more, only Keleseth had survived. The last blood prince stood at the side of his queen, one hand placed on her shoulder, but the fear in his eyes was obvious. He was known to be loyal to the extreme, so he would worry more for his queen's fate than his own, but he surely thought about his own future too.

The val'kyr twins had the benefit of an unreadable expression, but the way they spoke in their own tongue and fluttered around showed that they were still unable to fully grasp the latest events. They had thought of Arthas as a god, and feeling their god died by the hands of mortals had certainly sent them into a crisis of faith. And who could blame them?

That left him, Baron Titus Rivendare, commander of the death knights as the last person in the room, for he was also a member of the high command. And more importantly, Gothik, Deathwisper and he were the only voluntary undead in this room. All the others had been forced to join the Scourge, and if the new Lich King was not careful, they might become able to break the control over their minds. And their vengeance would be terrible if they ever got a chance to enact it.

The door was pushed open, and four skelettons in full plate armor with halberds entered in perfect order. Behind them came the new Lich King, flanked on one side by Sindragosa in human form and on the other by a woman unknown to Rivendare. Another four armored skelettons made up the end of the procession, and Titus shifted his attention back to the new Lich King.

Despite his torn and bloody armor, he made no bad impression. Tall, but not overly so, with black hair and a handsome, pale face and red eyes, he could have been mistaken for a death knight. His posture made was that of a king, marching in as if this was his castle. Which it technically was now. The Lich King shifted his gaze from person to person, till his burning eyes had met those of everybody present. Then he began to speak, his voice soft but clearly audible.

"Just to state the obvious, I, Vlad von Carstein, am the new Lich King, and I intent to keep this position, which makes you my subjects. But I know that some of you are not here by your own will, and I have little need for slaves. You have no reason to trust me, and while I can swear to be a better ruler than my predecessor, the same thing would be true for a dead rat. As such, I offer you a choice: Those of you who wish to leave may to so. You have nothing to fear as long as you don't raise weapons against me. I promise you to bring the Scourge back as true power in this world, not as the tool of an delusional idiot. Power and wealth will be yours if you desire such things. This is what I intent, the rest is left to you."

Silence followed the speech, everyone in the room considering their limited options. Sindragosa was the first to answer, a suprise for her former comrades.

"I'm in." That was all she said, but it was clear that these words had taken all her resolve to be ushered. But her collegues were not blind, clearly she had been quick and struck a bargain before coming back here.

Deathwisper and Gothik were next, the two trading a look before the lich raised her voice. "We follow the Lich King, to the bitter end." _Lucky fanatics. No need to worry if you worship death in all its forms._

Rivendare decided to go next. _Screw it, this is the only way out. Who would actually believe that all who want to leave would do so alive?_ "As long as you keep your word, the death knights and I will follow you."

Anub'arak shifted from one set of legs to another, then he spoke. "My people are dead, I have nothing left to return to. The Scourge gives me a purpose, even if it responsible for the end of my people. I might aswell stay here." This was all the proof Rivendare needed about the state of the binding spells on the Nerubians, the old Anub'arak would have chosen exile or death over servitute every day of the week.

Lana'thel looked a lot more conflicted than the crypt lord, but this could be a result of an easily readable expression. After all, one could see all her eyes at the same time without surounding her with mirrors.

"What choice this is: Be cast out in a world that rightfully considers you a monster or follow the next self-proclaimed tyrant in his plans for conquest. I still have people I care about, even among the living."

"It might be suprise for you, but I have no problem with the living just because their hearts are beating. If an armistice or a peace treaty was in the realm of possibility, I would accept it if the terms are agreeable. Should you want to, you can of course be part of any potential negotiation." The new Lich King made this sound like the most normal thought in the world.

"Are you serious?" Lana'thel was the one to utter these words in disbelieve, but the other had clearly thought the same.

"Why would I not be? I know that loyalty is to be earned, and I can't do everything myself, even with all the puppets I could ever wish for. All of you made it into high command, which suggests a certain level of competence. I ask again: Will you join me?"

"As I said, there is not much of a real choice here. Count me in."

This left the twin Val'kyr as the last people in the throne room without a new allegiance. All eyes turned on them, causing obvious discomfort.

"This is a decision we cannot make immidiately. We need time to consider the situation."

The new Lich King nodded. "Take the time you need, you can stay till you reached a decision."

He returned to center in the room to adress all those present.

"We have much to do and little time to do so. Our foes are strong and numerous, so we have to discourage them. I want the skies above Icecrown to be filled with our flyers, the walls manned all around and the artillery presighed on the valley of Wrathgate. Also, stop all scheduled executions, torture, interrogations and the like until they can be reevaluated. Lana'thel, prepare anything needed to host foreign emissaries. Deathwisper, I will need a full report on our intelligence situation this evening. Rivendare, I also need to know the exact strength of our forces. When historians record the resurgence of the Scourge, they will tell that this was the beginning. It is time for our victory, ladies and gentlemen."

As everyone went to work, Rivendare saw the opportunity to speak to his new ruler in private.

"I need to warn you sir, the spells binding the will of your minions weaken with time, and if you don't renew them, some of the... _less voluntary_ elements might try to break away, and many of those harbour thoughts of vengeance against the Scourge."

He got a strange look in return. "I suppose you are here on your own will?

Rivendare nodded, and approval flashed in von Carstein's eyes. "Thank you for your help, but I only use mind control if there is no other choice. If it is possible, I will win their loyalty in the old fashioned way of winning hearts and minds by being a good ruler. Excuse me, I have to talk to my advisor."

The Lich King headed over to his advisor, the living woman Rivendare didn't know, and left the death knight standing baffled in the room.

* * *

Naggarond 

The city of frost was an unmistakable sight, placed on the cold plains like a sleeping beast of gargantuan size, four sets of walls thirty meters high with even higher towers and four massive iron gates. Some early snow had already fallen, but the city still kept its colour of black and grey.

The guards at the western gate had a boring day, as were most of the days here on duty. The lords and ladies inside took great care to keep their feuds private, for any problems with the public would soon attract more enemies or even the anger of Malekith. For obvious reasons, there were no attackers from the outside, and bandits always made sure to stay out of sight, fearing that overzealous or bored watchmen would turn the bolt throwers at them.

Few people travelled here, aside from obvious merchants, and those who did brought large troops of soldiers around them, both to show their status and for reasons of actual security. Bothering merchants was not worth the time, and bothering nobility was dangerous. But lone travellers were both an entertainment and a source for extra coin for the guards. Some were emissaries of the king, and these could have avoid any trouble by flicking the royal seal. However, those without such protection were fair game.

Upon seeing a single rider without any sort of banner approaching, eyes in the gatehouse began to sparkle with greed and cruelty. Just the right chance for some funny side business.

The gate itself was open during the day, so business would take place on the small square behind. The highest officer present would initiate it, accompanied by half a squad, just in case. The other half of the first squad would watch the scene together with a second full squad, crossbows ready if anything odd happened. Overkill, but Naggaroth was a dangerous land and there was nothing else to do

Captain Tivir waited for the rider to pass the gate before stepping into view. As always, we wore the heavy armor of the city guard, and had closed the visor of his helmet. It was always good to hide your face in such moments, for some people held grudges for a long time and some of those who did could rise through the ranks before remember to settle old scores.

"Is there any way in which the guard can assist you," he asked as he moved in the rider's way, enjoying the false friendlyness just as much as the rest of the things to come. The rider, a man looking as young as all elves did, with white hair and simple blue clothes stopped his horse.

"Perhaps, by getting out of my way."

The eyes of all those in hearing distance filled with hatred. No wonder, since the rider spoke with an accent every Druchii knew and loathed more than any other, and he did so with all the arrogance to make sure it was no mistake. It was the accent of the caledorian nobility, and all the bored guards were suddenly most eager to perform their duties.

Blades were drawn and crossbow were aimed, yet the rider stayed calm, looking at those willing to spill his blood as if they were more of an insult than a threat. His eyes then focused on captain Tivir.

"I have a message for your king, a message I will only reveal to him. If you are a loyal subject, I would appreciate if you escorted me to the royal castle." The rider paused for a moment. "Should any of you attack me, well, many families won't miss their fools that much."

Several guards broke into laughter, but Tivir managed to stay calm, despite feeling more than a little nervous. This situation was a little to weird for his taste. He prepared to order the man to be shot, but hesitated.

As if his thoughts were an open book, the rider spoke again. "Difficult to decide here, isn't it? I sit here without fear in spite of the weapons and intents aimed at me, and you wonder how I stay so calm. Right now you are considering the possibilities: I could be a naive fool who knows nothing about this land, but I do speak your tongue as if it was normal. With that out of the way, you have only two options left: Either I am a madman rambling nonsense in the face of certain death or most likely sweet death after a long time of suffering, or I tell the truth, and the reason I'm not afraid is because I don't have to fear a few swords and crossbows. Your choice captain, Which one is it?"

Before Tivir could answer, the rider noticed something else. Behind them, one of the guards still in the gatehouse began to ready a bolt thrower. "Give that guy a medal for the right idea! He tries at least to be"

The bolt thrower fired, sending a single heavy bolt towards the rider. Yet the projectile, meant to take down giants and similar monsters, never reached its target. Instead, the rider grapped it with his left hand, without even looking.

All the guards suddenly remembered that they where supposed to be somewhere else, that they were late and could under no circumstances afford to be delayed further.

The rider waited to watch the guards scrambling away before continuing his way towards the castle in the city center.

* * *

It had been one of the best shots she had ever taken, and yet her target was still standing. Velonara could only watch with terror in her eyes as the other arrows hammered into their target, yet the old man seemed unbothered. Her own shot had left a scratch on his forehead, but an adamantine tipped arrow fired from an enchanted should have pierced his entire skull.

The second volley did even less than the first, since their target was now aware of his attackers and brought his magic to bear. Tentacles of red light swatted the arrows out of the air, then the counter attack began with a wave of fire. The Dark Ranger Corps accepted no fools, and so they were already running, knowing that staying behind would mean certain death. They split up, making it impossible for their lone enemy to catch them all. The one followed would have to keep him busy as long as possible, buying time for the others to escape. The demon they had seem was a Nathrezim, which meant that the whole of Azeroth might be in danger.

Velonara cursed her bad luck as she saw her target's eyes fixed on her. She had actually drawn blood, and the demon summoner would surely be vengeful. So she ran through the rocky terrain, diving into cover behind boulders to avoid streams of fire, looking for a way out of this mess. But there was none, as walls of blue flame rose around her, leaving only the path between her and the old man open.

If this was her last day, she would make it count. Seeing her target approaching, she loosened another arrow, which struck the old man in the chest. Yet his clothes seemed to be the only thing her shot affected. She tried it again and a third time, both arrows hitting their mark yet doing nothing. Her fourth shot was aimed for the old man's left leg, but he marched on, caring not for the knee she hit.

Velonara found her quiver empty as she reached for it, her other ammunition lost during her flight. With the determination of those who knew their fate, she drew her sword and dagger, willing to try if blades could do what bows could not. She charged, ready to slash and stab with both weapons, but before she came into reach, an invisible force grapped her and smashed her against the rocky ground.

Stunned, she could only watch as the old man came closer and... sat down next to her?

"Tell me", he said casually while wiping some blood from his face, "what is your name, young lady?"

With the world still turning in front of her eyes, she didn't think before answering. "Dark Ranger Velonara."

"You see, Velonara, there are very few people who can harm me, but you are one of them, and you have not caused enough damage to make you a threat. I hate wasting solid talent, so I won't kill you. Just please, don't try to shoot me again. It makes us both look like idiots."

With these words spoken, he rose up and walked away, while the walls of flame died as he left.

An idea crossed her mind as she waited for her vision to clear, an idea so preposterous that it had to be attempted. She got back on her feet, still in workable, if somewhat shaky condition, and began to follow the old man. To her suprise, catching up to him was easy, as he seemed to watch the landscape of the Netherstorm.

"Since my comrades are scattered and on the run, would you mind my tagging along while we head in the same direction?"

She got a strange look, and internally prepared to enter her afterlife. Then, the old man nodded.

"I don't mind your company for the moment, and you will know once I do. My name is Azarneth, by the way."

Without further comment, she continued his way. Velonara blinked several times before following him again. _Never underestimate the power of sheer audacity,_ she thought as they move continued their way across the barren landscape. _  
_

* * *

For several weeks now, all she had known was pain. She had experienced it in a variety of forms: Feeling her blood being replaced with acid, being covered in burning oil or having hundreds of daggers slowly twisted in her guts. All these sensations were of course illusions, she would have embraced death long ago if they had been real. The chains binding her contained the spells which caused her suffering, and if were not for her ability to isolate her mind from the physical world to dampen everything her body felt to a mere echo, it would have driven her insane.

The surge of raw magic a few hours ago had reached her throught the pain, but it had soon been driven aside by the constant agony. She was in no way prepared when the pain stopped. Just like that, from one moment to the next, it vanished. Had the spells malfunctioned? Or was this a ruse, to inflict even more after creating a false sense of peace?

A door to her left opened, and against her own instincts she opened her eyes to look around. The circular room was the same, the same mindless undead guards, the same gate on the right side leading to the quarters of the Frost Brood, the next gate behind the first one open to the stormy skies of Icecrown.

But the person entering was someone she didn't know. She knew the armor, the blade at his side, even the aura of the crown he wore. But the wearer was unknown to her.

"Valithria Dreamwalker, right? Can you hear me?" A soft voice, untypical for the Scourge and quite pleasent in these circumstances.

"Your captor has died, and as his sucessor, I am not your enemy. I have no reason to imprison you, and therefore, you are free."

Valithria could only watch in disbelieve as the guards began to remove the chains holding her in place. She didn't believe the claim of this man further than she could throw the citadel, but at least, this was chance to die on her own terms.

The man said something else, but she didn't care. Instead, she made her way to the gate in the tower wall. Ignoring everything else, she spread her wings and jumped into the snowstorm outside.

"Sir, she will never make it through the storm in her condition", one of the frostwyrms told Vlad as the massive green dragon fled.

"Follow her," he ordered, "make sure she doesn't die."

Two frostwyrms, the one who had told Vlad and one other immidiately took to the air. This was their first order under the Lich King, and as of now, their king was most pleased by their enthusiasm.

* * *

As nearly always, the hardest part was to wait, knowing how the world would move on and oneself was unable to do anything. Sartharion knew this feeling all too well and could handle it, but neither Theralion nor Valiona had this advantage. They were completely on edge, constantly pacing up and down in the sanctum, restless and powerless. Nalice had finally been ready to go back to meetings in the temple, and they all wondered how she would fare. She was frightened and rightfully so, without the arrogance brought by insanity, she would be fully aware of all those who wanted to get rid of her, and of her chances should said those enemies make their move.

They all felt a massive weight lifted of their shoulders when Nalice returned, visibly shaken but unharmed.

"Are you okay?"

Nalice look at if had stared down into the depts of the abyss, but she shook it of for now.

"According to reports from the front, the Lich King has fallen, only to be replaced by an undead wizard who joined the Alliance shortly before the offensive."

Sartharion said nothing, instead, he took a step forward and placed a wing over Nalice. "Calm down, you are safe now. Was it as scary as you thought?"

"Pretty much. The stares I get by the guards make me watch every shadow in the temple, and down make me start on the eyes of the lifebinder. I know this is necessary, but I doubt my ability to do this more than two or three times. How are you?"

"As fine as the circumstances allow it. You and the others concern me. You look like you just came back from a trip through hell, and the two young ones will pace up and down until they fall asleep. Not that I can blame any of you, but still, all three of you worry me."

Nalice said nothing more, she lied down close to one the lava pools and curled up. With her fear slowly fading away, she fell asleep soon.

The two twilight dragons also calmed, since their missing companion had returned now. They were talking to each other quietly, but Sartharion left them in their limited privacy. Soon enough, they too curled up together, hoping to escape their nightmares by staying as close as they could.

He would watch over them, just as had watched over the sanctum in the last few millenia. Once again, he vowed to do anything he could ensure that they would all survive, even if this should cost his own life. He could wait here alone, as he had done so long enough to pay little mind to another few days, weeks or months.

* * *

 _The fall feels great, but as soon as spread my wings, their is again only pain. I have not flown in weeks, and I am weak, I feel with every beat of my wings. The winds hurls me around, unnaturally strong and laced with the dark magic of the Lich King. In a good state, even in a halfway decent one, this would be no problem. But the torture has taken its toll, bracing the storms is now beyond my strength. Freedom. What a cruel joke this is, I already see the shapes of two frostwyrms chasing me. No chance to fight them, no chance to outrun them. I flee towards one of the old nerubian ziggurats close to the citadel, flapping my wings with the pitiful remains of my strength. I reach it, the frostwyrms still coming closer, but the entrances are too small for me, far too small. I shift into mortal form and drop into the structure, now feeling the cold much clearer. Exhaused, I create a small fire to keep my week mortal body from freezing to death. The shine of the flame is the last thing I see before the world goes dark._

 _Where am I?_

This was the question raised as soon as her survival became clear. She opened her eyes and blinked into the world, weak and exhausted but still breathing. She was lying in a bed, wearing only her underwear and covered with two blankets. A fire was burning in a chimney build into the saronite wall, its smell mixing with a faint smell of blood. It took the barely concious Valithria several seconds to connect to the dots to an obvious picture. Struggeling to keep the emerging panic under control, she slowly forced her head to turn. The other walls were made from the same black metal, the only other furniture were a simple chair and a nightstand. The clothes her elven form had come with were placed on this chair. Aside from the quiet crackle of the fire, the room was completely silent. A heavy door in the wall to her left was closed, however, the whole room seemed way to nice for a cell.

Valithria tried to get up and failed miserably. Her body felt as if it was made of straw, unable to move properly. With no other options, she sunk back, determined to reap the benefits of the warmth and the bed as long as she could.

Some time later, fifteen or maybe twenty minutes, the door slowly opened. Valithria tried to mobilize what remained of her magical abilities. She would not be able to stand up to any kind of solid attack, but by the titans, the first Scourge goon coming through that door would get to feel why dragons were feared around the world.

Yet no undead monsters stormed into the room, no toxic gas flooded in, no evil magic leapt into action. The creature entering was something far worse. Valithria saw through the mortal face the moment she laid eyes upon it. The woman entering was a member of the black flight, no doubts but it. The pitiful joke of a spell she had prepared vanished. It would not even put a dent in the magical defense of another dragon.

The other dragon, currently looking like a pale woman with black hair, was carrying something... a tray... _with a teapot and a cup?_

Valithria was so perplexed that she was unable to move as the other dragon came closer and put the tray on the nightstand.

"From what I can tell, none of the harm inflicted upon will have lasting consequences, physically at least. I hope you don't try to kill yourself again."

Valithria blinked a few times. For some reason, the black dragon seemed to be actually concerned about her. Or so it when she filled the cup and handed it over

"What is this supposed to mean?" Valithria was still perplexed, taking the cup with no intention to drink from it.

"Well, you might not believe it, but you are no prisoner here. The Lich King was not lying when he told you that you are free. After you left, he sent two frostwyrms after you to escort you to Dragonblight or bring you back here should you be in danger, The latter was the case, and so you are back here."

"And why would you care about that? Forgive me, but your kind is not exactly know for hospitality."

This got Valithria a rather sad look. "Not all of us are the same. As for my attention towards you, I guess you could call it maternal instincts. However, I have to go. The Lich King wishes to talk to you as soon as you are back on your feet. Recover well." With these words, the black dragon left, leaving Valithria alone again.

The smell of the hot tea became more and more tempting, especially since it hid the faint note of blood. Relying on the immunity of her kind towards all sorts of poison, she carefully took a sip. It was not a very good tea, mediocre at best to be honest, but it was warm and she appreciated the gesture, even if it was most weird.

An hour later, someone knocked at door. "Come in!", she called after some hesitation. She could still not quite believe that she was a "guest" here, and allowing a jailor to enter a cell seemed odd to her.

The person entering was none other then the new Lich King himself.

"Lady Dreamwalker, I hope you are recovering well, although you are free to take the time you need."

"I wonder why you care that much. Really. Your predecessor tortured with delight, yet you don't seem to be sadist at glance. Which raises the question as to why took this crown in the first place."

The Lich King showed his perfect teeth in a faint smile. "Thanks for the kind words. As for my motives, I have no hatred for your kind, and would prefer not to wage war against them or you. And I assume that keeping you locked up would be something both the green flight and you personally would consider worthy of holding a grudge over. I have no reason to keep you imprisoned, and what would I gain if die in Icecrown? The responsibility for your death at worst and nothing at best. Maybe you are my enemy, but as long as I can't be sure, you will not be treated as such."

"Guess I can thank you for that. Is there something else you want?

The Lich King looked a little embarrassed. "If you could try to keep your kind out of the wars to come, I would be very grateful. If you will, please tell them that they have nothing to fear unless they attack the Scourge first.

Valithria took her time to answer. "I owe you for not killing me or worse. I will relay your message, but that will be it."

"Thank you, Lady Dreamwalker. Rest as long as you wish to."

The Lich King left, and Valithria sank back onto the pillow, her head buzzing from the whole situation.

* * *

The reports about the current state of the Scourge took nearly four hours, but they were a necessity. In the end, Vlad and Sintharia knew that the Scourge personnel in Icecrown consisted of about fifteen thousand Darkfallen, twenty thousand cultists, eight thousand Death Knights, about a hundred frostwyrms of various sizes and about twelve thousand other sentient undead. Two or three thousand Vrykul were currently in Icecrown, but their allegiance was still unclear. The mindless puppets and constructs made up about a hundred thousand additional bodies, but they were mostly cannon fodder.

Lana'thel and Keleseth were already busy working on a diplomatic proposal, hoping to make the horde agree to a ceasefire. In the general opinion, their plan was hopelessly naive but might be worth a try.

Rivendare and Gothik planned the details of the defense of Icecrown against a possible siege, no matter how unlikely such an attempt might be, while Deathwisper had left to command her spies once again.

Now, Sintharia, Sindragosa and Vlad were the only people in the throne room.

"What is it?" Vlad could see that Sindragosa had something on her mind, but didn't say it on her own.

"I have to request leave. I know the timing is bad, but I still have living relatives. I have to see them again, tell them that I am free now."

Vlad sighed. "You're wrong, your timing is not that terrible. We should have some time before our enemies can react. Go, and return safely."

"You really struggle to deny request made by someone with a pretty face, don't you?" Sintharia said and chuckled.

"Guilty as charged, I guess. But that is a flaw I can live with."

Soon after, they could both see how the massive frostwyrm took of and began her journey. The view from the balconies of the central tower was marvelous, and Vlad enjoyed every moment of it.

"We have gotten quite far, and now we have to hold onto it. But I think we can call this day a great first victory."

Sintharia walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "True. And this means it is time to relax or to celebrate. Or both." She kissed him.

Vlad grinned and showed his fangs before kissing her back. "As you say, mylady.

* * *

The house in the Blade's Edge Mountains didn't fit into its suroundings at all. This was the first thing to be noticed about it, it looked like an ordinary house from some human village. Completely put of place in this region mostly inhabited by savage ogres and gronn. Azarneth knew that the owner, a certain Baron Sablemane, was a son of the recently recruited Sintharia, but the Dark Ranger in his company didn't know that. Her audacity was as impressive as her skill with a bow, but he had no intention to reveal the details of his mission to her.

"I need to talk with Sablemane alone," he told her as they approached the building. "Wait here please."

Velonara through him a glare but nodded. After their previous encounter, she had no illusions about her chances in a fight.

Azarneth simply walked to front door and knocked. No reason to be overly dramatic, even if it would be very amusing. The door was opened from the inside, revealing a man with darker skin and large black mustache.

"Baron Sablemane, I presume?" Azarneth smiled as he saw the suprise in the man's eyes.

"Yes, who are you to arrive at my doorstep without me knowing you?"

"Azarneth is my name, and I am an ally of your mother. I..."

"Nonsense! My mother has been dead for years! What do you want here? Answer me or you will learn the true meaning of pain!"

Azarneth didn't flinch at the threat. "Your mother lives, partially thanks to me, and she is not insane anymore. You seem to be sane too. Your mother is in Northrend, at the side of the new Lich King, and I want to bring you and any other black dragons here back to their family. If they are sane, that is. I won't force you to follow me, but don't threaten me. It is your choice, but make it quickly!"

Sablemane, or Sabellian to use his true name, looked at Azarneth with obvious distrust. "And I should believe you because...?"

"Because you don't have a lot of other options, not a lot to lose and a whole lot to win. If I wished you any harm, I would currently be in the process of inflicting said harm upon you, while searching your mind for the location of your allies. The mere fact that I talk to you should tell you all you need to know." Azarneth hid his triumph as he saw the change of Sabellian's expression.

"And what about this undead out there. Does she belong to you?"

"Not quite. But she is no danger to us, as long as keep your true identity hidden. Please, call your people here. The sooner we leave here, the sooner you can have a family reunion."

Sabellian needed some time to make his decision before calling the other dragons here. They arrived shortly after in human form, not exactly a likely sight in these lands but better than a group of five dragons. Velonara through a few glares at Azarneth, but he didn't react, simply introducing her to Sablemane and announcing the intention of returning to the Dark Portal.

Velonara could only stare at the newcomers joining Azarneth. Who were these guys to instantly join a demon summoner they had apparently never met before? They mostly ignored her, whispering among themselves. They were clearly very familiar with each other, moving like a well trained and experienced unit. Cultists, mercenariey or worse? No way to tell just now. Sablemane was clearly a wizard, but the others were not so easy to classify.

About two hours later, Velonara got the feeling that they were being followed, an instinct the other seemed to share. They all had enough experience to trust such feelings, so weapons were drawn and spells readied. No enemy jumped over the rocks, but this only meant that their foes were no berserkers. Or still searching for the best position to get a good shot into someone's back. Then, a golden light seemed to come closer.

"Run," Azarneth ordered as he saw this light. "Run like the wind and don't look back!" His formerly casual tone was now cold and professional as he rose a magical barrier between him and the light.

Velonara had seen many uses of arrows in her life, but the one fired from the light was different from all those she had ever seen. It seemed to be made from a solid form of the same golden light. With a sound like that of ringing bell the arrow was deflected by the barrier before hitting the rocky spikes of the mountains, but the destruction caused looked like a hit from a siege cannon, sending fragments and dust flying in all directions.

Sablemane and his entcourage reacted by following Azarneth's orders and ran, but Velonara could only watch in awe as more golden arrows hammered into the barrier, causing cracks to spread over it before it finally shattered.

"At least take cover you idiot! Anything breaking my defenses will kill you without effort!"

She took the advice, diving behind a rock close by, aiming her bow towards the strange light. The golden arrows and the destroyed barrier had spread clouds of dust, blocking her sight on the transformation Azarneth went through. But no amount of dust could hide the roaring dragon now standing in his place. It was a dragon unlike every one she had heard of, looking like a splinter of a moonless midnight sky change into a living creature. More arrows rained down, and Velonara got a first look at the attackers. Half a dozen of them hovered over the ground, every one a shining humanoid figure with six feathered wings, their entire form radiating golden light. Angels? She had never seen one, but they seemed close enough to the depictions in old books.

Azarneth wasted no time to charge towards them, unleashing a tidal wave of indigo blue fire. The angels spread out, flying in different directions while taking more shots at the dragon, and in a drastic change from her own attempts, these arrows had visible effects, some of them shattering scales or ripping them of. The dragon growled in pain and fired his breath weapon again, a focused stream this time, better aimed than the first time. One of the angels did not escape and paid the price as the strange creature was consumed by the unnatural flame.

 _So they can die if hit. Good to know._ Velonara was pretty certain that angels had little tolerance for the undead, so she took careful aim and shot one of them. Her arrow caused no visible harm, barely scratching the radiant plate armor. A stream of cúrses followed the shot. Velonara was used to the presence powerful beings, but being surounded by creatures immune to her best shots was something she loathed. As she jumped back into cover, she could see Sablemane at the edge of her eyesight. He opened a portal for his cronies before using it himself, and Velonara send a stream of insults after him as the portal closed.

Two angels began a dive, switching their bows for massive swords. Both struck the dragon, their weapons once again able to pierce the scales of their opponent. Azarneth was now covert in various injuries, but he would not give up easily. He exploded into motion, and his tail hit one of the sword wielding attackers, sending the angel flying in a precalculated arc, an arc that ended in a massive fanged maw. Teeth the size of spears pierced the fancy armor while the jaws pulverized bones and metal with a sickening crunch.

But his comrades did not simply watch. Instead they took their chance to rain spells and arrows down at their target, inflicting more wounds, each of them small and insignificant alone, but there were now dozens of them, and any living being would die if it suffer to many of them. Azarneth knew it too, and was apparently unwilling to meet that fate. Or so Velonara thought as he teleported himself away.

* * *

Saurfang growled in pain as he continued to carry the unconcious Bolvar through the snow towards the base the second division had established while he, Bolvar and Jaina had lead the first division. However, he found no orderly camp ready to care about the wounded and sent further troops to the front. Instead, he found a chaos of flame and snow, with lots of screaming and yelling thrown into the mix. About a third of the camp was burning, and Horde and Alliance pointed weapons at each other. But not only that, the Horde itself seemed ready to attack some of their own, leveling their blades at a bunch of panicked Forsaken.

"What is going on here?" Saurfang yelled as loud as he could. "Have all of you gone insane?"

Several Alliance soldiers approached him, lead by General Hubert Borgwen, shivering in anger.

"Tell that to those bastards who tried to gas us all!" Borgwen gestured towards the Forsaken. "If they had not betrayed us, these accursed dragons would not have burned our camp down!"

The soldiers in his company were more practically minded, carrying Bolvar to the healers while the commanders kept yelling at each other.

"Stop it! This isn't helping," Jaina yelled as she arrived. Her presence finally managed to calm them down.

"What happened at the front?", Borgwen asked, staring in disbelieve at the broken remains of the first division. "The mages told us that someone up high in the Scourge has fallen."

"We were betrayed," Saurfang growled, and Jaina continued. "Carstein and his companion were traitors, and a powerful ones to be sure. We... did kill Arthas, but Carstein picked up the Helm of Domination in his place. He is now the new Lich King, and as taken over the Scourge. He is now barricaded inside Icecrown, and we can only guess what his plans are. But the defenses of Icecrown are far stronger than we expected, and we can forget the assault with our current forces. We have to get back to Dalaran before Carstein decides to sent something after us."

Saurfang managed to get some order into the mess, but since the Forsaken had apparently tried to gas their comrades, all of them were arrested, even though some of them seemed to be just as shocked as their living counterparts. This would require a thorough and probably lenghty investigation.

He could only sigh as he shifted his gaze once again over the mess.

 _How am going to explain this to the Warchief?_

* * *

"Work-work, idiot-morons!" The voice of the caller was deep and metalic, sounding as if it came from a metal pipe. Which in this case, it actually did.

The slaves did as they were ordered, trying and failing to conceal their raging hatred for their master, but the chains made it impossible to move in any way except to work. And of course the Stormvermin and weapon teams around them would slaughter them all long before they would achieve anything. Hundreds of Skaven were gathered in the cavern, slaves to do the dirty work and elite forces of Clan Skyre to secure their discovery.

Masterwarlock Ikit Claw would not allow any less for his personal projects. And delivering anything less was a most unfortuante action, especially for the physical health of everyone involved.

The scouts had only very recently found the strange portal in the old tunnels near this nameless outpost under the World's Edge Mountains and swore that it had not been there before. Naturally, Ikit had the lying idiots burned on the spot by a flamer team. Who where these moronic imbeciles to think that he would believe such nonsense? This portal was imbued with old and most powerful magic, of course they would not admit their selfish desire to sell their nonexistent knowledge to any vagrant. He, Ikit Claw, the chosen of the Great Horned Rat, the one to lead the Under-Empire to total victory, was the only one worthy of this knowledge!

Of course this would not stay a secret for long, but if all haste was made, Ikit would find out where the portal lead before any other clans or the Grey Seers showed up. Clan Skyre would need a bridgehead on the other side, and Ikit would establish one. If these treacherously incompetent morons would only WORK! He would have to investigate the matter further. The one who sold him these fools would pay of this treachery and sabotage. The only question remaining was the exact process of this worm's execution. But where would one get such useless Skaven anyway? These wretched idiots should not even have survived their first winter. Were they bred specifically to interfere with his plans? His foes had to be truly insidious...

Ikit drew his pistol and shot the next slave through the head. The motivation seemed to work. Good for them. The warpstone generators they would use to activate and stabilize the portal were already in place, and Ikit would accept no further delays. This was not only a chance to reach new heights of power, but it was also the perfect opportunity for a field test of various new prototypes. Ikit began to laugh maniacally as he imagined the frontline use of the new armed ratogres. The Stormfiends were one of his best creations, and he truly wished to see them in action. Well, these slow and idiotic slaves have to be replaced anyway...


	11. Chapter 10

AN: Next chapter is already wip. Please continue reading and reviewing.

* * *

Defeat was always a possibility, this was not his first one and no matter how much he hated the thought, chances were it would not be his last one. Hasty interplanar teleportation did nothing to lighten up Azarneth's mood as he stumbled out of the magical tunnel his spell had created and into the fortress of his master. Assuming a physical form again hurt like hell, reminding him once more that he was heavily wounded. As if any reminders were needed. But being here in these caves made sure he would not be harmed any further.

His left front leg had suffered the worst injuries, being almost useless now, so Azarneth used his wings to support his frame as he limbed through the lightless corridors filled with the heat of a volcano and gasses that would turn the lungs of most creatures to bloody slime within mere seconds. Various guards had already noticed him, but didn't dare to approach him without permission, prefering to check the perimeter for any pursuers. Finding none, they returned to their posts.

 _Cursed Celestials. Whatever their faults and their talk about mercy, they know how to shoot you where it hurts properly._

The gates to the throne room opened on their own and without any sound as Azarneth limbed through, determined to give the necessary report before he would allow himself to fall into unconciousness. He could have asked for help and would have received it, but requesting anything without truly dire need could be seen as weakness, and weakness was something his master would not tolerate. So he stood before the court, bleeding and breathing heavily, but he was still standing and that was the important fact here.

The members of the court looked back at him, their expressions covering the entire spectrum from compassionate to disparaging. Most of them were his equals, some more powerful than he would ever be, some slightly weaker. But they were all like whelps compared to the one they served, figure in the center of the room.

Dahak, the Sorrowmaker, the Endless Destruction.

A monster of titanic proportions, looking like a dragon with scales in the colour of fresh blood and covered with spikes. But Dahak more than a mundane monster, he was a true god who made no effort to hide his nature. No matter how long Azarneth served him, no matter how often he had seen his master, laying eyes upon him still filled him with the same awe and dread he had felt the very first time.

 ** _"Why are you here, Azarneth? And why are you in such a miserable state?"_** Dahak's voice was a mirror of his dark glory, strangely beautiful yet utterly terrifying, even in a normal, calm conversation. And this was no normal conversation.

"I was attack by celestials, your Majesty." Azarneth bowed his head so deeply that his horns scratched over the adamantine floor. "Celestials clearly sent by an outside force, although I don't know whom they serve. I gave them as good as I got, but they had the element of suprise, divine blessings and superior numbers."

 ** _"I see. You need to take care of your injuries. Go and rest until you are ready for duty again."_**

Azarneth rose again and turned to limp to his own chambers. As he left, he still heard the next words in the throne room.

 ** _"Vakarthys, you will take Azarneth's position while he is indisposed. Make sure that any attempted interference with my plans is dealt with approprietly, and find out who thinks to do so is a good idea."_**

"Yes, sir!"

This sent shivers down his spine. Vakarthys was one of Dahak's two lieutenants, and if he was sent there, the situation had to be dire. Or would very soon be dire for those who dared to interfere in the plans of a god. But Vakarthys was undeniably competent and in this situation reliable. A funny thought since Dahak was a god of treason among other things, yet he did not tolerate anything beyond playful intrigues within his entourage. Saying this in the presence of his master would be fairly unhealthy, but Dahak had few followers and could not afford any sort of infighting.

He had to warn his new recruits about this. The situation had become a lot more complicated, and any celestial influence was a great danger as the attack on him had shown.

Placing himself on his own considerable treasure hoard, his mind reached out, back to Azeroth.

* * *

Cold moonlight was falling into the windows of the citadel, creating a nice and false sense of peace. Icecrown was suprisingly quiet during the night, at least in the upper towers. The chambers of the Lich King where located directly below the roof of the keep, but had been lacking at first. The halls of blood had been the only wing of the fortress with comfortable furniture, and Vlad had made sure to get some of them moved up there. They always had a faint smell of blood, but a vampire wouldn't mind that.

He was currently standing on a balcony, staring down at his new realm, watching his various subjects, both alive and undead, working still at this late hour to ready their defenses. In truth, he didn't know what to do now. Since Azarneth had brought him back, he felt little need for sleep, and the few times he had fallen asleep had caused him many nightmares. He would only sleep if it was really necessary.

Sintharia was currently sleeping, and Vlad took the opportunity to marvel at her beauty once more. It was not the kind of sight someone would get tired of. Then she said something, fairly quietly, but clearly audible for Vlad's unnatural senses. The language she used was unknown to him, but her voice was now soft and melodic, and very, very calming. So he got back into bed and listened, his own thoughts relaxing at the strange words and the warmth her body emitted. This was one of the things that proved to any observer that she was no human, being naked in a room with freezing temperatures without any sign of discomfort.

Focusing more on her words, Vlad realized that he was able to make out single words, and what he assumed to be names, names Sintharia mentioned with great affection.

 _Vlad, are you there?_

 _Yes. What is it, sir? Will you arrive soon?_

 _No. I was attacked by outside forces and had to retreat with heavy injuries. A replacement for me is on the way. His name is Vakarthys, and for the sake of your own health, treat him carefully. He is a most dangerous being, and sometimes shows a... somewhat volatile temper._

 _What about these attackers? Who are they?_

 _Celestials serving an unknown creature. If you see a winged humanoid radiating lots of light, kill or capture it swiftly, but stay careful. If there is more than one, run and get at least full battalion per angel into position._

 _Yes sir. Any idea when this Vakarthys will arrive here?_

 _Within a few days, most likely. Stay safe._

 _I will. I wish you a good recovery sir._

The connection broke of, and Vlad saw that Sintharia was now awake and looking into his eyes.

"Tell me, what is your next move? We could use a good plan if are to hold our position."

"I do have a plan", she began somewhat insecure. "I would take a force of the Nerubians and head umderground. It should be possible to reach the old sanctum of my flight in that way, without attracting any attention, and if anyone of my kind has escaped the corruption, it will Sartharion, the warden of the sanctum."

"You like this Sartharion, don't you?"

Sintharia was suprised, and rose an eyebrow in return. "And how to you know that?"

Vlad smiled again. "You talk in your sleep", he said and watched as Sintharia blushed slightly. "And while I don't understand the language you speak, I can make out words and names. Sabellian, Onyxia and Nefarian are three names you say with great affection, but the name Sartharion had a different affection in the way you said it."

The expression on Sintharia's face stayed strange for a few more moments. "You are way to good at this. Yes, I like Sartharion, or rather, I liked him before I went mad."

"Anub'arak could have such a force ready by tomorrow. When would you intent to begin the expedition?"

"As soon as possible. So we can return soon."

Her expression changed again, to a devious smile this time. "And if Sindragosa comes back before I do, good luck with her. You would make an adorable couple."

Now it was Vlad's turn to look a little embarrased, only his lack of heartbeat preventing him from blushing. "Is it so obvious? It shouldn't be."

Sintharia chuckled. "Yes. And don't worry about me, I'm okay with it."

"Really? I was a little worried about your reaction."

Another chuckle. "Draconic culture on Azeroth has never had a problem with someone having several consorts, and neither have I. She is a good choice, and I get along with her. So no need to worry about spontaneous combustions of your person."

"That's reasuring, but I have to admit my lack of a plan regarding her."

"You probably will figure something out. Try playing chess and discussing magical theory. But excuse me, I need to sleep a little before tomorrow." With these words, she closed her eyes and her breathing slowed down again.

Vlad left the room to search for Anub'arak. Sintharia would get the forces she needed. And Vlad had to get his mind away from romantic concerns.

* * *

The portal opened with a thundering crack and the smell of ozone, revealing a snowy landscape on the other side. Ikit squeaked the order, and hundreds of Skaven surged forward, a tide of dark fur, yellow teeth and crude blades. Weapon teams followed the first ranks, ready and enthusiastic to kill their enemies, no matter who that might be. Modified rat ogres towered over their unmutated brethren, implanted insticts arming the weapons that replaced their amputated limbs.

Ikit too was curious to see the place the portal led to, but he was no fool who charge into the unknown head on. The front line was not only dangerous because of potential enemies and malfunctioning Storm Fiends, being there would mean that treacherous underlings and incompetent fools would stay behind to command, a sure recipe for disaster. Here, behind the guards carrying the new portable rattling guns, he was as safe as he could be. The firepower of these guns would annihilate anything breaking through the front. More troops would arrive soon to search and secure all the warpstone that would certainly be nearby.

But there was no organised resistance, at least not immidiately. No army was there to face them, no monster rose to defend its lair. Not even the most stupid member of the invasion force believed that it would stay like that. A network of fortifications began to rise around the other side of the portal, classic skaven paranoia causing them to work together as long as the new environment frightened them more than the schemes of their own kind. As a human might say, better choose the devil you know.

An army arriving like that was no subtle affair, and keen eyes soon watched has the skaven host established its bridgehead. Messages would be send to inform allies about this new potential threat, and some souls both brave and poor would try to talk to these newcomers. Compared to the people of the Old World, the inhabitants of Azeroth were utterly lacking in the blessing of intolerance...

Once again, the web of magic covering Azeroth had taken a hit, a hit many magic users around the world would notice. Two such events in a short time were a clear sign that something here was very, very wrong. Meddeling with the balance of the laylines was a most dangerous act even for those who know how to do so, and many inhabitants of Azeroth would do anything in their power to stop this interference. Especially since the one or the ones responsible seemed not to care at all about the consequences of such actions.

* * *

It was quite suprising to see what the study of old texts could reveal if one tried hard enough. By the exact words of the treaties regulating life in an around the Wyrmrest Temple, any ambassador had the right to enlist an assistant of personal choice, who would have the same diplomatic protection as the ambassador. Which meant that Nalice would not have to be the only one leaving the sanctum. Still, Sartharion felt more than a little uncomfortable leaving the cavern. The rational part of mind knew that anything able to break the protective spells and defeat Theralion and Valiona in the time between the alarm and his arrival from the temple would kill him with little effort. Yet leaving this post still felt so wrong.

The looks Nalice and he got upstairs were not reassuring either. Pretty much everyone stared at them with thinly veiled contempt and some with open hatred. As they approached the council chamber at the tip of the tower, Sartharion nearly expected the other flights to turn their backs on honor and old contracts. But they were not attacked, and while the stare Alexstrazsa threw them send shivers down his spine, the dragon queen chose to otherwise ignore their presence, as did the other council members. They had far more pressing matters to take care of.

A green dragon stepped into the chamber, in mortal form like all those present. Sartharion didn't know her, so Nalice leaned over and whispered the necessary details into his ear. Her name was Valithria Dreamwalker, and till a few hours ago she had been presumed dead after she had been captured by the Scourge several weeks ago. Her return rose quite a few questions, most of them regarding the new self proclaimed Lich King.

The lifebinder began the conference with sort introduction before casting a spell to discern all lies spoken in this room. Then she turned to Dreamwalker again.

"Forgive me for this, but we have to make sure that you are truly you. So tell us, what has happened to you?"

Dreamwalker nodded. and sighed. "After I was taken prisoner, the former and now dead Lich King had me subjected to various forms of torture in Icecrown. There were no actual questions, just pain for the sake of pain." Her was voice cold and seemingly free from emotion, her eyes focused on something hundreds of miles away.

"When the new Lich King, this Vlad von Carstein took over, he had me freed. I tried to get out of Icecrown and nearly died in the process. The Scourge had saved me, or so it seemed. Von Carstein claimed that he wouldn't want to fight us, but there is more to it. There was a black dragon in Icecrown, allied to or serving this new Lich King, and a powerful one to be sure. I don't know her name, but she was very adapt at hiding her madness." Dreamwalker shot Nalice and Sartharion a glare.

"I don't know how any of this came to pass, but the Lich King asked me to deliver the message that he wants no war, and I had to agree. He also asked me to try and make that happen."

"What was your general impression of the new Lich King?", the Lifebinder asked.

"He is dangerous with question, but in a different way than his predecessor. Less powerful in person, but he knows what he is doing and if he is insane, he hides it well. The citadel is now fully prepared against any attack, and there is this black wyrm at his side. And he can be charismatic if he wants to be."

"Our reports say the same," Lord Korialstrasz added. "Our agents decribe von Carstein as charismatic individual with great skills at hiding his true nature. Apparently, he cut his way to Wrathgate while hiding his magical abilities till the very end, and his companion, a certain Lady Selene Winters, was a mage of the highest order. She is probably the dragon you met."

"Does the Lich King about this?", the ambassador of the blue flight asked. "If he is unaware of the true identity of this person, his reaction to discovering the truth might be quite drastic.

"I don't know, but I doubt it. If he knew, he would have kept a closer eye on her," Dreamwalker finished her report and left the room. Nalice and Sartharion chose this moment to leave too, since the other flights would obviously not discuss the matter further if they were present. Better to go on their own terms than being escorted out by a dozen nervous guards.

They still got enough angry glares, and more than once someone began to move towards them only to reconsider before things could get really ugly. Sartharion grinned viciously. No matter how long he had hidden in cave, his reputation had survived and was still enough to make their foes back down. At the same time, he was more worried for Nalice. Despite being quite good in a fight, it seemed that her fear had been completely justified.

But who was this black dragon Dreamwalker had met? Most of his flight was extinct, and Sartharion had thought none of those still alive able to pull something like this of. Someone had to go through an amazing development, especially when it came to hiding megalomania and comtempt for everyone else.

* * *

The new Lich King was in power for barely two days, but the changes in Icecrown were already both drastic and obvious. The walls were manned, the skies filled with flying monsters and artillery was put in place to cover the valley leading to the Wrathgate. The morale had also changed, now, the troops here were actually motivated to fight instead of bordering on open revolt.

 _From bad to worse,_ Loralen thought as she said down in one of the great halls of the citadel. O _f course it had to go like that._

She had been sent here to spy on the Scourge, climbing over the walls in the darkness of the night, but of course this was a punishment for her blunder in Dalaran. She had scaled the walls a few hours before the battle outside and hid among the living cultists, hoping that liitle mind would be payed to another hooded cultist in the generic dark robes. At least for now, the plan seemed to work.

Hundreds of various sentient Scourge creatures were gathered in this halls, many of them parts of the night watch busy with their meals before going to bed. Most of them were not used to actually having free time, but even such small pleasantries inspired the staff the accept their new master. But Loralen was here because von Cartein had announced a public speech here in a few minutes. If she would find out what the traitor planned, she could be rehabilitated. A risk she had to take.

Von Carstein arrived soon after, accompanied by Prince Keleseth and Baron Rivendare. The new Lich King looked well adapted to his new position, showing the natural confidence expected of a ruler, but not the cold arrogance of many nobles. The room fell silent as he climbed onto an empty table, still managing to keep his royal grandeur even while entering his improvised stage.

"Well, what is there to say?", he began with the voice of a masterful orator. "You know who I am, and you know the situation outside, but just to make this clear: If there is anything you want tell me, just do so. No one will be punished for suggestions. But I am not only here tell you that. The situation might look dire, but I can assure you that we are not without friends, and we might soon lose a few enemies. All I ask of you is to give me a chance. With your support, this war can be won. And I will say it again: Anyone wishing to leave may do so with repercussions. Our enemies might be strong, but you only lost until know because your leader wanted to lose. You all know that. Now it is your decision: Flee and live your own life or stay and fight to the end. I will respect your decision, but please make it quick, for our enemies won't wait nicely."

Von Carstein jumped of the table as the first hesitant applause began, but left the hall immidiately. But the reaction showed his sucess to anyone present. Dozens of discussions spread across the room and Loralen took the opportunity to listen. Very soon, she felt how her heart turned to ice.

Nearly everyone present appeared to support the new Lich King, and even those skeptical of his intentions were for the most part willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Word had already spread that von Carstein used words and regular telepathy instead of mind control to relay his orders, and this fact alone brought him huge amounts of sympathy. Not very suprising since using the Helm of Domination to control minds was the equivalent of carving orders into the brains of his subjects with a spoon, also causing extreme pain if said orders were not followed instantly, not the mention the ability to overwrite someone's thoughts entirely. Others mentioned how the Lich King was now treating his subjects as people rather than tools.

Loralen shivered as the severity of the situation. After serving Arthas for so long, often against their will and seeing their leader lose a war of annihilation on purpose, showing even basic decency, determination to win and the smallest hinds of kindness was enough to inspire fanatical devotion in the various Scourge creatures.

The situation would only amplify the trust the lower Scourge ranks would put in von Carstein. They had their backs against a wall and needed a good leader, and they all knew it.

 _Not dissimilar to our situation after we broke away from the Scourge_ , she thought, remembering the bloodshed of the three way war in the plaguelands of Lordaeron all to well. Few people had loved Sylvanas back then, but she brought unity and no matter what she did, she was a saint compared to Arthas and Ner'zhul. Mostly since most Forsaken had not been killed and reanimated by her. Now the Scourge capital was confronted with a similar mess, a mess only made worse by their enemies being united into a single block.

What more could she do? How long could she remain hidden within enemy ranks? The Horde had to be informed about the situation, but should she sent her report now or wait to gather more information?

Disaster struck when she left shortly after. As she approached the southern door of the hall, she crossed path with someone she had met earlier: Baron Titus Rivendare. He had been one of the high ranking officers of the invasion of Quel'thalas and later in the garrison of Lordaeron. He had always been a loyal dog, one of the voluntary undead who served the Scourge with heart and soul. The problem was that he recognized her too.

She reached for her weapons despite knowing how futile it was. Her shortsword, dagger and padding under her robes stood little chance against a runeblade and full plate armor, and even less with the magic at her enemy's disposal. Not to mention all the other death knights, cultists and whoever else would jump to aid Rivendare.

She tried it anyway, charging in only to be stopped dead in her tracks as someone in the crowd fired a spell at her. A moment later, Rivendare smacked her over the head with the pommel of his runeblade, and the world went dark for a while.

The eyes staring into her own were red as fresh blood and belonged to slighty amused and and very smug looking von Carstein. She was now in a windowless room with von Carstein and several armored skeletons, but it looked more like an empty storage room than a part of a dungeon. Her hands were bound with iron shackles, her weapons taken away, but she was unharmed otherwise.

"So we meet again. I guess these are better circumstances than a battlefield." Von Carstein came closer, his burning eyes staring into her face. "You will tell me what you did here and what you found out. Before making a decision, just remember that it does not matter long you can keep your mouth shut. I have all the time I need to make you talk. You can safe me a lot of nasty work and yourself a whole lot pain if you just talk now.

Loralen gave him the look most people reserved for the evidently insane. "Do you think that I am a traitor?"

"No. Since you are a member of the Forsaken special forces, you are most likely both clever and very loyal. But no one can resist torture forever, especially since I have the necessary experts here. Whether it takes a day or a month to break you, I have all the time I need. You have seen the defenses. You know that your superiors cannot take this fortress by storm, and a siege takes time. More time than you have."

The Lich King came even closer, close enough for Loralen to feel his breath on her face, his left hand resting gently on Frostmourne. "I could also break through your mental defenses and make you a puppet, willing to do whatever I want. Make a wise choice."

Every single word eroded her resolve more than she would ever willingly admit. She knew that von Carstein was telling the truth, no rescue would arrive in time, if there would be any at all. And she would break under the torture, it would truly just be a matter of time. She had found out nothing but the completely obvious. Talking could at least give her a swift death.

"I found out nothing, or at least nothing beyond the fact that you have taken over. As for what I did, well, that is fairly obvious, isn't it? That is all I have to say. If I may ask for one thing, kill me swiftly."

"I don't intent to kill you. In a way, you being here is beneficial for me. You will leave Icecrown and take a letter to your queen with you. Since I believe your claim about your findings, there is no need to silence you forever." Hearing these words, two of the armored skeletons stepped forward to remove the shakles around her hands before escorting her out of the room. Shortly after, they arrived at the gate, where a skeletal horse was waiting, a metal scrollcase tied to the saddle. Unwilling to risk the chance, Loralen took a last look at the defenses before riding out into Dragonblight.

* * *

The council chamber in the violet citadel was the same that it had been yesterday, and no improvement was in sight. The various leaders and officers gathered here had once, for a short time, been united in their goal to see Arthas fall, but now they were back to hissing and yelling at each other. Since the gas attack in the basecamp, many were suspicious of the Forsaken, even among their former allies, while others suspected the whole incedent to be a false flag attack by the Scourge and some even considered foul play by the Alliance.

The other point dividing those present was the question of how to deal with the situation in Icecrown. A majority wished to wipe the Scourge out, but there was no easy way to do so, with a new Lich King unwilling to lose the war. An assault on Icecrown was suicidal, and preparing a siege would give the undead time to regroup and enact plans of their own.

 _I can't allow this to continue,_ Jaina Proudmoore thought as General Borgwen and Highlord Saurfang got into their fourth shouting match. _The only results of these meetings are more insults and more plans detached from reason. We need time, time to investgate th blight incident, to reorganize our troops and above all time for the hotheads to calm down._

She had to do something to get the time needed before the coalition either broke apart or made a rash decision with potentially disastrous consequences. But to achieve that goal, it had to be something drastic.

"I will go to Icecrown", she announced and the room fell silent. "Perhaps it is possible to talk to Carstein, or von Carstein as he is apperently called now. And even if not, it gives some valuable time."

In spite of the situation, the shocked faces in the room nearly made her laugh. "If any of you have interest in the option of diplomacy or a good delaying tactic, I'm open for suggestions."

Half a day later, she approached the shadow of Wrathgate, feeling her heart sink as the distance became smaller. Why did she have to be such a smartass? Thinking about it, her whole plan was barely thought out and maybe downright foolish, but most definitively it was risky.

But here she was, accompanied by a dozen soldiers as she closed in on the massive structure. She could only hope that the Scourge would recognize a flag of truce, instead of tearing all of them apart as soon as they came into view.

Yet no monsters, spells or projectiles rained down on them as they continued their way. And as they became increasingly nervous, a sound like the moaning of a hundred tormented souls filled the air, and with this sound of screeching saronite, the Wrathgate began to open.


	12. Chapter 11

AN: My holidays are over, so I will need more time between chapters now. Thanks to all reviewers, please continue doing that.

* * *

 _To Her Majesty Lady Sylvanas Windrunner,_

 _I must ask you to refrain from sending more spies to Icecrown. Doimg so could be considered a hostile act,_

 _and I have no interest in hostilities between us. Should you truly want to know how what I intent for the_ _future,_

 _all you have to do is come to Icecrown and ask. Consider this an official invitation with no strings_ _attached._

 _I do still owe you a favour, and I wish to repay my debts._

 _May your reign last eternal,_

 _Vlad von Carstein._

"Is this a joke?" If it was, Sylvanas Windrunner was not amused by it.

Loralen gulped. It was bad enough to have failed again, but angering her queen even more made her question many of her choices in life.

Sylvanas slowly put the letter down, and Loralen quickly made up her mind. Letting her queen wait could be unhealthy.

"I doubt it. If von Carstein is crazy, he is very good at hiding it. He could of course be trying to lure you into a trap, but I don't think it is a joke."

The Banshee Queen sighed. Her position was bad enough since the blight attack after Wrathgate, and even worse since the one responsible had not been found. The grunts execution the attack had been arrested, questioned, tortured and eliminated, but they had kept the identity of their master hidden behind powerful mind altering magic even Varimathras had been unable to breach. Now, the Forsaken were mistrusted even by their closest allies, and it would not get better while the mastermind behind the betrayal was alive and free.

* * *

The iron jaws of the gate opened, and a small group of riders came forth. Yet despite them being a group just as small as Jaina's, they could feel far more confident, having both the troops on the wall and the flying monsters at their back.

 _Well, at least they do recognize a flag of truce,_ she thought. Otherwise she and her small squad would have never gotten so far.

Jaina hid her suprise as she realized that she knew the man leading the Scourge riders. Titus Rivendare, one of the traitors who had enabled the invasion of Lordaeron.

Rivendare stopped his undead mount a few meters from Jaina.

"What do you seek here, Lady Proudmoore", he asked, mocking the courtly behavior he had learned in life.

"I am here as diplomatic envoy, and wish to meet the Lich King in person." She was proud to keep her tone free from her worries.

Rivendare stood silent for a moment, and despite there being no sound, Jaina could almost hear the telepathic communication taking place.

"Fine. The Lich King is willing to meet you. Follow me." He turned his skeletal horse and Jaina and her guards followed.

The way was quite long, no wonder given the size of Icecrown, and the whole fortress was busy, preparing for war instead of waiting passively for it to come. Jaina felt her heart sink further as she saw the Scourge headquarters from the inside. If it looked frightening from the outside, it was far worse once she was aware of the true number, equipment and monsters of the defenders.

Arriving at the foot of the main keep, she was reluctant to hand her horse over to the cultists waiting there, but did so anyway. Her bodyguards looked as if they were trapped inside a living nightmare, the look of those you knew that keeping their oaths was entirely beyond their control. If the Lich King wanted her dead, half a dozen soldiers could to nothing to prevent his minions from doing as ordered. Teleportation would be no help either, for only those allowed to use such magic by the web of defensive spells would be capable of casting such spells here. And while breaking through this kind of obstacle was possible, it was not something anyone could just do in a fight. And if you could do that in a fight, it should be no problem to simply win that fight.

Steeling her nerve once again, she followed the treacherous noble into the massive building. She was allowed to enter the staircase, but her guards were not. Unpleasant, but to be expected.

"The Lich King asks if you care for protocol and formalities", Rivendare asked seemingly out of nowhere.

"I wouldn't mind skiping them", she replied truthfully. No need to waste time and breath on empty words.

The staircase seemed endless, clearly designed for and by creatures barely remembering the fatigue a living body could bring with it. At perhaps two thirds of the tower's height, Rivendare led her away from the central staircase and to a suite at the outer wall before he excused himself and left.

It was cold, but not as cold as in the rest of the citadel she had seem. Ancient furniture decorated this room, which was also filled with a faint smell of blood. Armored skeletons stood in every corner, just as unmoving as the furniture. Through an open door, Jaina could see von Carstein standing on a balcony, seemingly lost in the sight below.

He returned around as she entered, smiling and showing his fangs while doing so.

"Lady Proudmoore, welcome to Icecrown."

"Your majesty". Jaina forced herself to bow slightly, even though she hated do so in of an undead.

"Take a seat, please", von Carstein said and gestured toward two armchairs and a table before placing himself in one of these chairs. When Jaina did the same, she noticed tha the smell of blood came from these chairs, but didn't ask about it.

"So, what exactly brings you here? I doubt its the weather."

Jaina took a deep breath. "In spite of your treason, there is a way to redeem yourself. If you use the powers at your disposal to destroy the Scourge for good, both Horde and Alliance are willing to forget what happened at Wrathgate." Saurfang the elder had come up with the idea, and it was worth a try.

"Why would I do that? If destroying the Scourge was my goal, don't you think I would already have begun? Please, what kind of ruler sacrifices loyal subjects in countless numbers out of irrational fear?"

"Don't you understand?" Jaina was getting angry. "The Scourge has to be punished for its action and destroyed because it is a threat to all life."

Von Carstein chuckled as he answered. "You want to punish the creatures of the Scourge for acts committed while they were bound to Arthas' will. That is ridiculous."

His tone became more serious. "Tell me, if a thug is arrested for sliting a throat, do you punish the thug or do you punish the knife he used? As for the Scourge being a threat to all living, remember that I am not Arthas."

"Know can I know that? Arthas turned after taking up Frostmourne, and you have done the same."

"When I picked up the blade, I knew what it was, what to expect, how to handle it. I can call myself a mighty wizard without false arrogance, and of course I had more than one backup plan should things go wrong."

Von Carstein took a bottle and a glass from somewhere, filled the glass and emptied it.

"Arthas, according to the sources I read in Dalaran, was pretty much a perfect target to be possessed. A young man, barely an adult, whose entire world burned down around him, unable to do anything to stop the flames. Little experience, his formal training not meant to fight this sort of threat, nearly no knowledge about the arcane arts, much less about necromancy, despair, a deep mental trauma, and one source even mentioned that his girlfriend dumped him."

The Lich King sighed. "The only way to make it noticeably easier to be possessed would be actually allowing it to happen without resistance. Do you want a drink too?"

Jaina shook her head. "Then there will be war. Neither Alliance nor Horde will allow the continued existence of the Scourge."

"Follow me." The Lich King rose and stepped onto the balcony again. Jaina followed with some reluctance.

"Look down there", von Carstein said and gestured at the buzzing activity on and above the walls. "How to you think a war here would look like? I have not run my own tests, but these walls should be able to resist even the heaviest siege artillery, which will be barely usable in this kind of weather anyway. So you can try to starve us out while your own troops starve and freeze, and many of my subjects don't need food at all, or you can assault the walls. Can living soldiers who still feel cold and exhaustion storm walls thirty meters high or higher with ladders, under constant fire? A few might make it to the top to be surounded, but most would die before even reaching the ladder. There are armies who could take Icecrown, but I have not see them here."

Von Carstein took a deep breath and calmed down a little.

"So the war continuing doesn't worry you?"

"No. Truth be told, I revel in battle. The music of clashing blades, the roars of monsters and spells, the hectic ecstasy of fighting, the smell of blood and fire, I enjoy it like few other things. And I don't think that I have to fear much in the battles to come. So, if your leaders want war, tell to be careful what to wish for."

"You are a bloodthirsty monster then." Jaina's voice was now cold and emtionless, her mind desperately trying to find a way to stop this war from becoming active again.

"Perhaps. Certainly by your standards. By the standards of some people I had the misfortune to meet, I would be a saint of kindness and mercy. So I guess its all a question of perspective."

"Are there any conditions you would accept?"

"Sure. As a first, keep your troops away from Icecrown. After that, I'm willing to negotiate the exact terms personally."

"That is a start. I will inform Alliance and Horde."

"Farewell then, Lady Proudmoore. Send a message if and when you can guarantee me safety at whatever meeting spot Horde and Alliance agree on. I hope our next meeting will be as civil as this one."

* * *

The nexus, his former home, came into view for the first time in years. Fortune had been on his side since Naxxramas, and he would make the most of it before it could fade away. Sapphiron flapped his wings even faster, determined to reach his goal before the Lich King would be able to stop him. He knew that the Helm of Domination set on a new head, and his time was limited. Sooner or later the new owner would figure out how to use the full might of the artifact. Sapphiron could only hope that Malygos was capable to cut him off from the Scourge entirely before that happened.

Of course, his approach was noticed, and the dragons patroling the sky turned to face him, although they kept their distance for now, probably waiting for backup. Sapphiron came closer, doing his best to look not threatening. Obviously it didn't work, but he would try anyway. Then he recognized one of the closer dragons.

"Eregos, please, I don't have much time. I need to see Malygos before the new Lich King finds out how to suffocate my mind again!"

Eregos was reluctant, but when his reinforcements arrived, he ordered them to suround the frostwyrm. This was above his paygrade, Malygos would decide what was to be done with Sapphiron. He would request more backup, just in case this was some sort of scheme.

Sapphiron was escorted in side, and Eregos wondered about this curious times. The web of magic was attacked, the Scourge was taken over, and Sapphiron was coming home. Who would come back next? A question to be answered soon...

* * *

Ikit could only curse the damned beard-things once more. Why did they have to be on the other side of the portal he wanted to use to bring total victory to tue great Under-Empire? Had the forces of the universe conspired to fault whatever he planned to serve the Great Horned One? Those responsible would pay dearly for this! The things he would do to them would make even the worst minions of the deranged god Slaanesh blush!

The master warlock continued his delightful torture fantasies, ignoring the gunfire as the dwarves attacked again. The single shots of the jezzails disappeared in the roar of the rattling guns. Part of him wanted to be down there, to kill the worst enemies of all Skavendom personally. But he knew better. Nothing could stop Clan Skyre under his most wise and marvelous leadership, and neither traitors nor beard-things would stand in his way for long! More things would need to die-die, and very soon. The hole of these other beard-things would be found and turned into a ruin worthy of the Great Horned Rat! The Great Horned One knew that Ikit was the one and only chosen servant-partner, and all would fall before them.

* * *

An explosion shook the very foundations of Icecrown, and the normal activity faded in favor of panic and violence. Vlad send out various telepathic commands and grabbed Frostmourne as he tried to figure out what happened.

 _What are we up against?_

Keleseth was the first to answer the call. _Some kind of tentacled monster, and more than one. They attack both the main courtyard and the dungeons. We need backup down here_.

 _Hold on, we're on the way._ Vlad had no time to take the stairs, instead he jumped out of a window, turning into mist just before he hit the floor. The courtyard was a bloody chaos, but to his luck, it was easy to tell who belonged to which side.

He stabbed Frostmourne in the back of the first malformed monster he could reach, a beast currently busy with ripping a Scourge construct apart. The runeblade did its job, draining enough life to make a wound usually considered an inconvience by such a monster fatal.

But as Keleseth had said, there were more of these creatures. Two of them charged in, their arms both tentacles and pincers. The first one reached out for him, and Vlad responded by chopping its arm of. Greenish-yellow blood splattered all over the place, blood most obviously toxic and stinking like a week old battlefield in the summer. Ignoring all the pain of its lost limb, the beast attacked again, and while Vlad was able to finish it of, this gave the other monster the opening it needed. With a precision belyings its bulk and monstrous appearence, its pincer closed around Vlads shoulder and tore his arm clean off, the Plate of the Damned providing no protection. He retaliated with a wild burst of magic missles, shooting dozens of holes through its torso. His second enemy dead, Vlad stumbled back, trying to get a grasp of the general situation as is vision blurred under the pain.

The floor was covered in dead bodies, most of them Scourge puppets. Fifty meters to the right, a frostwyrm landed on another strange beast, sinking fangs into the attacker's neck. More fighting could be heard heard from the left, but the Scourge held the courtyard for now. A group of various undead took formation around him, and a cult necromancer began to look at his wound.

"Care about me later. Kill these beasts and secure the dungeons", he hissed in pain. "My injuries will heal, back sure the attackers can't say the same!" He spoke the truth, the wound would be cured soon either by his own magic or the Carstein Ring. For now, he was wondering why his armor had done nothing to stop the beast. The creature had not been strong enough to force its way through the enchanted metal, but the saronite had given way as if it was not magical at all.

With a few worried looks, the undead rushed to reinforce the comrades. The frostwyrm who had taken down the last beast in the courtyard jumped towards Vlad and closed his claws around him.

"Forgive the insubordination, sir, but I can't let you die just now." The undead dragon sounded worried and apologetic, but didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he took of, swiftly carrying Vlad back to one of the balconies.

"Thank you, now help out the others", Vlad said as he collapsed on the balcony. He closed his eyes, muttering the spells to see through the eyes of the various undead bound to his will. Looking through the eyes of mindless puppets had limitations, but it was still enough to see the entire battle. And it allowed him to see who was in trouble. Whenever one of the defenders needed help, he could send the mindless troops to help out, and offered mental guidance. Two minds could react quicker than one.

With the home advantage, better coordination and superior numbers, the Scourge won the skirmish shortly afterwards. In total, abound thirty of the strange creatures had attacked, but the damage they had caused was massive, both due to suprise and their unnatural strength and resilience. Their size varied quite drastically, from twice the size of man to a hulking behemoth fifteen meters tall. Whoever had brought it down would get an appropriate reward.

It took only a few minutes to find out where the creatures came from. A crude tunnel was found beneath a part of the dungeons, connected to one of cells through a shattered floor or ceiling respectively. This entrance was sealed and placed under heavy guard, and the Lich King called his advisors to the throne room. They arrived soon, with worried expressions and in some cases with fresh wounds, but still able to stand.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell these creatures were?" The Lich King had no patience for politeness now, not with the injury he had suffered, even though it was mostly healed already, it still _hurt_. Nobody seemed to mind.

"Anub'arak has mentioned some weird beasts before, beasts he called the faceless ones. I can't be sure, but it would be my best guess," Keleseth said, and his collegues seemed to agree with his assumption.

"I will contact him later. How many casualties?"

"At least four hundred, maybe five hundred or more. We don't know if some of them tried to escape or suceeded in doing so."

"If that is all, return to your duties. We need to be ready if these monsters return. And please make sure that those who did well get a reward." The members of the court nodded and left.

"One more thing: I want to talk to the frostwyrm who brought me up here, but I don't remember his name. If you do, please send him here."

Someone did apperently, for the same frostwyrm came into the room soon after. It was not easy to judge the expression and posture of the skeletal being, but Vlad could sense a certain nervousness.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know your name."

"I'm Rimefang, sir." Definitively nervous. Vlad suppressed a smile. It felt good to guess correctly.

"Well, I just wanted to thank you again. I could have gotten into real trouble down there. And please, don't be so nervous. You got nothing to worry about."

* * *

The halls and caves where endless and supposedly empty, but in truth, they were filled with various dangers and inconviences. Spiders of all kinds lived here, the entire spectrum from the harmless small ones who where only a threat to tiny insects to monsters the size of houses.

Their size didn't matter. Everything standing in the way would be dealt with in the same way: With violence, fire and the ruthless application of both. The advancing expedition left a trail of ash and corpses. This was the right way to deal with vermin, no matter their size.

The expeditionary force was marching on for days, needing no rest as its members would not tire, having overcome the weakness of the living flesh long ago. Their leader knew the way and many of the dangers lying in wait, and failure was not an option. So they continued, from one ambush of living nerubians to the next nest of giants spiders, leaving a trail of carnage and destruction through the already ruined Azjol-Nerub.

 _How long will it take? And what will happen up there in our absence?_ , Sintharia thought as she stared up to the ceiling, both because she thought about the world above and to look out for more enemies coming from there. This was one of the larger halls of the old kingdom, and one similar hall they had come through had been filled with spiders who dropped from the ceiling onto them. Now she checked every crack just to be sure.

She was still concealing her true self, knowing that there were already enough foes to worry about, but she longed to assume her real form again, to soar through the sky again, and to rip those in her way to bloody shreds. But this was the wrong place at the wrong time, as much as she would like to ignore that.

Being the only living creature in the expedition and its commander, she was close to front and surounded by Anub'arak and his best warriors, all of them willing to die to ensure her safety rather then risk the wrath of their new king. Even though Vlad had done a lot to convince his subjects that he was not as bad as is unmourned predecessor, their old instincts and fears were unwilling to die off.

Vlad. Sintharia was still trying to make up her mind, and unsucessful in doing so. Would he follow her suggestions? Or would he do something else, and what? And why was she spending so much time thinking about him?

Her stream of thoughts were interupted when Anub'arak stepped closer to her. Judging his body language was entirely beyond her abilities, so she waited for him to speak.

"Lady Winters", she said and bowed his head, his manners contrasting with his monstrous shape and frightening, clicking voice. "I have to ask this, but what happens once we do reach the foundations of the temple? We are neither strong nor numerous enough to threaten it. Attempting to do so would achieve nothing but our destruction."

"You are right. And is why we won't attack. Leave the details to me once we arrive, but I can tell you that the journey there and back will be the dangerous part, not our stay there."

The crypt lord shrugged, but seemed less than satisfied. But he didn't want to press the issue. The Lich King's trust in this mortal was something he could not understand, given that she was not even a cultist. But his orders were clear, even if they seemed pointless.

Azjol-Nerub was mostly shrouded in darkness, the old light scources long burned out, all of its inhabitants adapted to live in total darkness. So seeing a faint light ahead was most unusual. They took cover, waiting for those carrying the light just like the predators of this realm had waited for them.

The light was not alone. It was joined by others, and later by the sound of footsteps, although very quiet ones. If it were not for the warning the light had provided, they would doubtlessly missed them. Now, the expedition was silent, not moving an inch as they waited. The lights came closer, and soon a few humanoid figures came into view. An elven scouting party, consisting of five rangers with light armor, bows and melee weapons. No need to strike. A few minutes later, they disappeared again, allowing the expedition to continue, although they did so slower and with a stronger emphasis on stealth.

Another hour of sneaking through the tunnels went on without encountering anything bigger than a rat. Then, the ground began to tremble, and a rumbling sound filled the air, a sound getting louder and louder.

The nerubians knew this kind of sound all to well, and so did Sintharia. It was the sound of someone digging through the solid rock with a speed that should not be possible. Cracks began to spread in the left wall, and the expedition prepared to fight, certain that any creature burrowing through the darkness was most likely hostile.

Stone broke, dust filled the air, and a terrifying howl rose from the other side as monstrous shapes broke through. These shapes were easily three or for meters tall, some even larger, their heads blank orbs with tentacles, their arms ending either in similar barbed tentacles or sharp pincers. Howling again without visible mouths, the creatures rose their arms and charged.

Anub'arak send out a strange screach and let the counter charge, meeting blind rage with well planned brutality, inspiring his underlings to do the same.

For a moment, Sintharia was considering to just watch the spectacle, watching the impressive mess of blood and gore the two sides splattered all over walls and floor. _But that could be seen as antisocial._

So she joined the fray, sending bolts of magical fire over the heads of the nerubians, saving her stronger spells for any potential enemy breakthrough and keeping a close eye on Anub'arak. The crypt lord was quite a sight in the fight, his four front arms ripping through any foe in his reach, aiming at different enemies as if they were completely indipendent. And slicing and tearing was not limited to those, even his legs were covered in blood from the bodies they had been stabbed through.

The smell of the poisonous blood the creatures lost reached Sintharia, and when it did, she realized what these creatures were. They were related to the corruption in her flight, no doubts about it. Now filled with burning wrath instead of cold determination, she send out more and more destructive spells, foregoing normal flames for twilight fire and streams of shadow magic. The nerubians were doing far worse than their leader, at least two dozen of them already dead and just as many injured when the last enemy dropped dead.

"What are these... things?", Sintharia asked the crypt lord afterwards.

"The Faceless Ones. Ancient beings serving even older beings. Most of then are not very bright, but deadly in melee and they feel nearly no pain. Some of their kind are able to use magic. Overall, ugly beings you can only deal with violently."

Sintharia felt the urge for a comment about a crypt lord calling someone ugly, but managed to keep herself under control. Examining the corpses more closely, she changed her mind to agree with him, these things were remarkable in the disgust they caused, perhaps in an unnatural way.

* * *

"I have to stop this war from becoming active again, Rhonin. If this gets hot again, I can't even be sure if we could win it, and if we do, tens of thousands will die. Nobody wants to negotiate with the Scourge, or at least openly. But we have to, unless we want to sacrifice our troops trying to storm Icecrown..."

Archmage Rhonin was waiting patiently as Jaina paced up and down in his office, not sure what to do. She was correct, but he had no idea how to realize her plans. Neither Horde nor Alliance would accept the Scourge, and it was most obvious that assaulting Icecrown was suicidal. He knew all of that, but it didn't help.

"And what did the Lich King say?", he asked.

"He claims to be willing to negotiate, but he clearly doesn't trust us to ensure his safety. But given how he came into power, I don't trust him either."

"So what are you going to do. I will do what I can, but that won't be that much."

Jaina dropped into her chair, exhausted. She would remain still for quite a while, trying to come up with some reasonable plan. She failed, and so she changed her approach, searching instead for a plan crazy enough to actually work.

She found one, and told Rhonin. His eyes widened.

"You can't do that, Jaina! It's not worth it, it is insane, and it is irreversible!"

* * *

A flash of light, a sound of tearing fabric, a strange gut feeling, and Sabellian blinked into the landscape of Azeroth for the first time in years. He looked back at the others: Hemathion, Obsidia, Insidion and Furywing, the last survivors of his kind in Draenor. It was time to go. Sabellian was more than a little sceptical regarding the claims of this Azarneth, but if there was any chance of these claims being true, they had to take it. And what were the creatures who had attacked Azarneth? None of them had ever seen anything like them, and they seen a lot in Draenor.

They made their way through the wasteland around the portal, not yet sure how to get to Northrend. There was tension in the air, a tension they all could feel. More blood would be spilled soon, and if they could, they would be in the right place and not alone once everything went to hell. And if the best place to be was Icecrown, they would find their way.

* * *

It was unbelieveable how well a small animal could help in times of crisis. Vlad was still positively suprised as Mr Bigglesworth continued to purr in his arms, focusing on the soothing sound to distract himself from the pain in his arm. He was still clueless as to why his armor had not stopped the pincer. The armor itself was no longer damaged, it had even repaired the damage down without any outside involvement, and the enchantments woven into the metal were untouched.

Alone with the cat, Vlad had more than enough time to think. His most pression question was whether this Lady Proudmoore had any chance of sucess regarding diplomatic relations. He had not lied to her, but more time to prepare for the escalation would be quite useful. There was also the questions about the monsters attacking Icecrown. Were there more of them? Would they attack again? Could they be useful? And who controlled them, if anyone did?

But no matter how important those questions were, his mind would not stay busy with them. Instead, his thought trailed back to Sintharia, and well...

 _Damn it, I do miss her. And since lying to yourself is useless, yes, I do love her. Why do I always fall for women with way too much power and an explosive temper?_

* * *

The council chamber was a mess, but there was no way telling if it was still one or again. The reasons however were obvious, the Northrend Offensive was falling apart, and disintegrated in a sickening pace. The new Lich King was probably the least important problem, since monsters of an unknown species had launched attacks all over Northrend. To make matters worse, another previously unknown species of humanoid rats had suddenly appeared near Ironforge and begun to massacre anything in their path. King Magni Bronzebeard had already called for help and announced the retreat of his forces from Northrend to protect his capital. His brother, Brann, was to speak to the council today about his findings regarding the beasts roaming the frozen wastes, but he had not arrived yet, and the general mood got worse by the minute. Placing the leaders of enemy factions together in one room was bad enough, but having them wait while could be leading their endangered nations caused a completely different level of tension. And so those gathered here searched a vent for their frustration, and they found one.

"So, what did your trip to Icecrown do?" General Borgwen showed his contempt for the mere idea openly, and no small number of faces across the room did the same.

 _Great. Given them something they both hate and even Borgwen and Hellscream will team up for a time._ _It would be nice to get this kind of cooperation without a mutual enemy. But since she had to do so anyway, Jaina began her report._

"It was not exactly a warm welcome, but it was civil. The demands however, were not. The Lich King refuses to destroy the Scourge, and claims to be willing to negotiate terms personally, if his safety is guaranteed." She paused for a moment. "I doubt we can take Icecrown. It is better guarded than we thought, and if the defenders know what they are doing, which they do, any assault will be a bloodbath for our troops."

"Is that it? You went to Icecrown to find out what everyone here already knew? The Scourge has to be put down, and of course the one commanding it would not destroy its own weapon. I'm all for reasonable diplomacy, but this was an utter waste of time and a pointless gamble." Borgwen managed to sound both fatherly and sarcastic in his answer.

And he was not completely wrong. Jaina knew too that von Carstein would never agree to the terms given to him. She hoped that the plan she had come up with in Rhonin's office would work, even though the thought of going through with it made her shiver.

"So the question is should try to get the Lich King here, or should we give up on diplomacy. I have no love for the Scourge, but they might be the lesser evil for now." As always, Warchief Thrall was a beacon of calm, and Jaina thanked him for that.

"How can we know that the Lich King does not plan to use this excuse to get here to strike at Dalaran?" General Hellscream voiced what most people in the room thought at the same time. "He already betrayed us once, why would he not do so again."

"He is not Arthas", Saurfang interjected. "I doubt he is strong enough to attack us alone, and if he brings an army with him, we'll know and be ready."

A guard announced the arrival of Brann Bronzebeard, and the discussion died down as the dwarven explorer entered. He looked terrible, his clothing torn and stained with blood and slime, his eyes still wide with fear.

"It is worse than I thought", he began without an introduction, "these monster come from the old city of Ulduar, and there is something down there, a creature of terror, madness and power beyond our nightmares. I have been closer to it than anyone would want to be. My men are dead, and there are countless horrors down there. We have to strike as one, or we will all perish."

"What are you blabbering about?", Hellscream asked in his classic, manner, subtle as a thrown brick as always.

"Of course you would not believe me. On the other hand, you would not see reason if would bite your ass."

"Calm down! This is neither the right time nor the right place for insults!" Thrall, once again, a voice of sanity.

"Now, explorer, we will need more details..."


	13. Chapter 12

AN: Back from yet another week with no internet and some spare time.

* * *

Another portal flared into life, but this one was no threat to the ley lines. The person using could pose such a threat if need be, but that was not required as of now. Still, a portal between worlds would attract so small amount of attention.

Especially if it opened in one the courtyards of the Icecrown Citadel.

Alarms sounded, and the portal was surounded by undead of all sorts. They had suffered a suprise attack two days ago, and they would not be caught like that again. A tight formation of infantry closed in, and Val'kyr hovered overhead, ready to descent onto any foe coming through the gate.

"I see you don't lack the will to fight. But you won't need it now." A deep, sonorous voice, clearly audible over the heavy steps of the infantry, despite speaking with normal volume.

A single person stepped through the portal, and the portal closed. The person is question was covered entirely in spiked crimson plate armor and a silver chainmail cloak. Eyes like orbs of lava stared through the visor of a hornet helmet, scanning those gathered to confront their owner, and a visible aura of heat surounded the armor. The snow around the figure was already melting away.

"You all look quite eager to test your weapons against me, but before you all do, let me make my statement", the the armored figure said and walked towards one of Vrykul surounding him.

"That's a fine axe you got there. Give it your best swing."

The Vrykul shrugged and did as he was told. The heavy axs hit the horned helmet, and it bounced off, leaving not even the hind of a scratch, despite the target being not larger than a regular mortal.

"With that out of the way, please tell your king that Lord Vakarthys wants a word with him."

No one made a move, and Vakarthys decided to make the situation more clear. "If you won't tell him, I will simply start killing you until somebody does. Simple as that."

Nobody could doubt these words, and so Vakarthys was escorted into the keep by more than two dozen Scourge creatures. Both sides knew that they would do very little in case of a serious fight. If someone got through the teleportation blockade of Icecrown, that someone was certainly extremly powerful. And if a Vrykul with a greataxe could penetrate this armor, those with weaker weapons had little reason to even try to stop this being.

 _They did quite well for people with no divine help. Nice walls at least,_ he thought as he made his up the massive central staircase, taking care to remember the various door and the positions of the guards. Caution had a tendency to pay of, even when the inhabitants of this place had few ways to harm him.

At a first glance, the vampire Azarneth had recruited was not too impressive, but since that had been part of the plan, his colleague had probably made a good choice. For the sake of protocol, Vakarthys removed his helmet, revealing a completely plain, average looking face, except for a short goatee. He took the time to shift his gaze all over the massive circular room, its guards and the massive throne in the middle of the northern wall before addressing the person sitting on said piece of furniture.

"Greetings, von Carstein. It seems Azarneth chose well. I am Vakarthys. My mission is to investigate any celestial activity, and stop it where it is found."

Von Carstein was very good at hiding his discomfort, but Vakarthys could sense the slight tension. Not that he would ever mind subordinates fearing him.

"Do you require anything to do so?", von Carstein asked. _Was there a hint of pain in his voice?_ If he was injured, the vampire was hiding it well indeed.

"Yes. I need some room, preferably my own tower, the reports of your spies on any potential celestials, and perhaps military support depending on the enemy strength."

"Sure, you will get what you need."

"Excellent!" Vakarthys smirked like a psychotic child in a room filled with candy. "Then I won't bother you any further for now." He left without another word, not even making the effort of faking respect. His attention would only be focused on the mission.

Vlad stayed quiet for a while after the newcomer had left, wondering what to do with him. Azarneth had warned him, and Vlad would not ignore such warnings. The way Vakarthys had arrived here, the way he grinned, the aura of pure malice surounding him, all this worried Vlad. He had no authority over Vakarthys, no way to keep him in line. And if his skills at reading people were even remotely correct, he would need the option sometime soon.

 _Better get started now_ , he thought as he send a call to his officers. He would need this guy watched constantly, but in a discret way.

* * *

The time he feared had come, and the inevitable had begun. Someone was trying to break into the sanctum, and while Sartharion was afraid and would not lie to himself about, he kept his fear under control. To his left, Nalice braced for the fight, looking cold and distant as it was expected from a politician at all times, but Sartharion could see the tension in her body. The twilight dragons to his right lacked the experience, so their nervousness was obvious, but he was still impressed by the determination they displayed. They could have run, escape by turning incorporeal, but they had chosen not to. Together, the four stared at the northern wall of sanctum, watching the cracks in the volcanic rock spread.

As it was so often, waiting for the fight to begin was just a nerve wrecking as actually fighting. They moved into position, ready to cover the breach with their breath, but close enough to immidiately charge when necessary.

They would not be able to hold on forever. But no matter what exactly happened, they would make sure some of the attackers would not go home again.

With a loud crack, a dust cloud and the sound of heavy rocks tumbling over an equally hard floor, the wall finally gave way. Yet no one charged through, the attackers probably guessing that the first one to go through would be the first to die.

Sintharia was relieved that there was no wave of lava coming through the breach, and no storm of dragon breath either. So they had hit the right chamber and the guards were not panicking yet. Not bad.

"Wait here", she ordered the nerubians. "No matter what happens, do not move in there." She glared daggers at them until she was sure they got the message. Then, she changed into her true form. Not in a slow, dramatic fashion since there was no time for that, just a brief flash of light. Her undead escort moved away, suprised and worried, but the dragon didn't attack, so discipline held firm.

Steeling her nerve by taking deep breaths, Sintharia moved towards the breach, not quick enough to cause much noise but not slow enough to appear sneaking. Everyone on the over side would be on edge, and even if Sartharion was alone, taking risks was most foolish. Entering the sanctum would give him an opening while she was stuck in the breach, and Sartharion might only need one for crippling or even fatal strike. Dying for her flight was one thing, but death due to a snapped spine while everyone thought her to still be possessed would not help anyone.

Since hiding anything from her Scourge minions would not really necessary anymore, she decided to take the simple route.

* * *

Brann finished his reports, and for a few moments, everyone in the council chamber stayed quiet to think their own thoughts. As much as everyone here hated to admit it, none of the factions here had the strength to stop the monsters from Ulduar alone, and even with a united front, this would be a costly war. The other implications were also clear. If they attacked Ulduar, they would not have the forces to attack Icecrown, and with the losses from taking the titan city, there was little left to stop the Scourge from counter attacking all over Northrend. And there were no illusions about keeping this under the rug.

"So we don't have to ask if we go for Ulduar, but how we will survive the aftermath. If we take this Yogg-Saron out, we will be unable to keep the Scourge back. So the question is: How to we keep the Scourge out of this equation?" Borgwen seemed disgusted by his own words as he spoke them.

All eyes turned to Jaina. _Well, that was to be expected. Of course it was my idea to go to Icecrown, now they got their excuse._ Some of the looks she got were compassionate, some pitying, but most were either hostile or a mask of indifference. And since it had been her idea in the first place, they were not entirely wrong. She sighed.

"I will leave immidiately."

Other eyes watched the scene too, eyes that were most definitively not meant to do so.

"You know what you have to do. Double the amount, play it save."

"Yes, master." The voice of an experienced sycophant, but not a good enough one for the master. The master in question tolerated it with a patience aquired in long years of being served by notorious schemers. He knew all their tricks because he had played all of them personally.

* * *

"Sartharion? I know you're in there, and I know how this makes a wrong impression, but could you let me explain this? If so, it would be nice to keep my scales intact when I come in."

Sartharion felt his heart freezing as he heard her voice, but he would not falter. If this gave him a clear chance, he would take it. His magic was ready, aiming for the weakened ceiling above the breach. One decent shot and the hole would be sealed again, burying whoever came through under hundreds of tons of rock.

"You can come in alone", he called back, keeping his voice free of any emotion. "If you are not alone, I'll consider that an attack!"

"Fair enough." Sintharia moved in, slowly and prepared to die. While Sartharion was usually a dragon of his word, he would do anything to protect the eggs in the sanctum. And yet no teeth tore into her neck. No magic engulfed her. She entered the sanctum for the first time in centuries, and found that its warden was no longer alone.

She eyed the others were carefully, taking note of their every move. She knew Nalice, and while the ambassador was good in her job, Sintharia knew also that Nalice just as much of fighter as all other wyrms in their flight.

Seeing two twilight dragons in this sanctum felt like a blade being twisted in her heart. It was her fault that these creatures even existed, and that made her responsible for what they doubtlessly had suffered on their way here. Her heart sunk even further since she knew that all twilight dragons were corrupted, and if Sartharion tolerated their presence, this meant he had to be corrupted as well. But why were they not attacking now? Did they think she was still her old self?

"Before you try to explain anything, their is something I have to check. Don' try to resist." Sartharion warned in his cold, distant tone, and Sintharia gulped.

Then she felt magic scanning her, probing her body and her essence. She hissed internally as this was a invasion of privacy if she ever saw one, but made no move nor sound. The scanning was slow, methodical and thorough, as she would expect Sartharion to act while on duty.

"No corruption, not even a hint, but something else...", Sartharion muttered, sounding as if he didn't believe his own words and thoughts.

"You can start explaining now", he said, and he seemed a little more relaxed now. Nalice and the twilight dragons also let some of the tension fade, but they still looked ready for anything. And if they assumed something, they would win the ensuing fight with little effort. Sintharia doubted her chances to take down even one of them before she would fall under a barrage of attacks

With some of the weight on her shoulders gone, she began to tell her story to this point, taking care to be detailed wherever this was necessary. Questions would be still be raised, but now it was important to get everyone out of here before someone upstairs noticed the commotion caused by breaking down the walls.

"We have to get out of here. We will be much saver in Icecrown, and the defenders know we're coming."

Slowly, Sartharion nodded. He did not trust her fully, but he had no other options. Nalice had told him about attacks by Faceless Ones all over Northrend, and an isolated sanctum below ground was an obvious target.

"We will come with you." He sounded as if he had just dug is own grave. Then he put a teleportation mark on the sealed chamber containing the eggs. He would teleport them to him once he was sure Icecrown was safe enough.

So they made their way back, ignoring the stares they got from the nerubians waiting outside. The underground journey to Icecrown would take a few days, and there was no time to lose. Sartharion and his little group were somewhat calmed by the fact that they would win a fight with Sintharia and her undead troops. So if this was a trap, it would be a very costly one.

* * *

Two days later  
Icecrown. Once again the cursed fortress towered before her, a sight she knew too well for her own taste by now. Her guards were as nervous as the last time, as she was herself. Even her stomach protested against the view over the blade-shaped towers. It got even worse when she thought about her rather limited options and the plan she had. She pushed these thoughts aside. Looking lost would not get her anywhere once the negotiations began.

This time, she was not met at the gate, it simply opened to let them in. The undead busy in the courtyard mostly ignored them, focusing their attention on their various task and throwing only glances at the small group entering their domain. Still, a few creatures did follow them with a certain distance, ready to close in should there be any trouble. A hooded cultist lead her up the stairs, her guards held back in one of the many empty rooms in the tower.

Rivendare shook his head as tried to grasp the full picture of the events of the last few days. First, the Lich King seemed to be less stable than he had anticipated. Two days ago, he and Keleseth had found their master aimlessly wandering the corridors, muttering to himself in a language neither of them had ever heard. Just a few hours later, he had locked himself in a forge for an entire day, cutting off his mental link to his subjects, and afterwards von Carstein had been perfectly normal again. Secondly, the newly arrived "advisor", Lord Vakarthys, had not exactly made a positive impression and had to be placed under surveillance after he killed several cultist for approaching him in the wrong way. And now, Jaina Proudmoore had come again, no doubt to further fake some sort of diplomatic agenda while the other leaders of the Alliance and the Horde certainly planned their campaign to continue to the bitter end. For now, von Carstein seemed to do well in his position, and Rivendare would support him as long as he did a good job.

He had to inform the others. The Scourge high command had grown somewhat fond of their new leader, and they would do many things to keep it like it was. But with Sindragosa gone, the Lich King's living witch on a secret mission with Anub'arak and the unwanted visitors in Icecrown, more than one member of the hogh command got nervous. And nervous people with lots of power had to calm quickly before someone could hold a candle to the powder keg.

* * *

Saronite walls and cold blue flames. Neither one was too bad alone, but the combination was what made the inside of the citadel so uncomfortable. It made the walk up the central staircase feel like a descent into a frozen tomb, and the guards placed here were not helping either. Jaina took a deep breath and focused. She had to do this right, or the world would pay the price.

It was the same room, but now the smell of blood was gone. Had it been removed? If that was the case, it could be considered a nice gesture towards living envoys. Either way, it was an improvement.

Von Carstein was as polite as always, but Jaina sensed that he was not entirely focused on her. But since she could not really do anything to change that, it was time to work with what she had.

"Surely you have heard about the monsters attacking in various places all over Northrend", she began after the introductions. Receiving no answer, she continued. "According to our reports, these creatures attack the living and the dead alike. We have reason to believe that the Scourge is facing the same problem we face."

The Lich King remained silent as he was before, looking at her or perhaps through her with these red eyes. Jaina looked back at him, determined to meet his stare head on. Taking the chance, she looked at him more closely, realizing that this was the first time she saw him without plate armor. Without it, he was far less intimidating, and despite him being a monster, his attractiveness could not just be ignored. She forced her mind back to focus back on business.

"Well, Lady Proudmoore, I think I know where you are heading here." He smiled. "You are going to suggest a truce or maybe even allying for the time being, until these creatures are dealt with and we can go back to killing each other, aren't you? Teaming up or leaving each other alone while we have a mutual enemy?"

"More or less, yes," she said slowly and carecfully. So he had payed attention after all. Perhaps a first sucess.

Von Carstein grinned and showed his perfect teeth and his fangs, probably not caring about how frightening this looked. His stare intensified, becoming almost hypnotical. Almost? Could it be that he actually had a supernatural ability to influence the minds of others? Feeling this gaze in her eyes, it seemed not unlikely. After all, he was able to use magic, and could do so with quite a bit of skill, as bad as that was for the rest of the world.

"And why would I skip the chance these monsters offer to me? Since I am save within these walls, why risk anything helping those who wish to kill me? I can just sit here and wait until the beasts and you have fought and finish of the survivor."

"True, but if we were to work together, the odds for a peaceful solution would rise drastically. Even those who hate the Scourge most would have to see you as the lesser evil."

"And what makes you think I care about my public reputation outside of Icecrown? I am not responsible to your people, and I doubt the paladins and priests of your light would simply change their mind. I don't even think the those who are less zealous would accept undead in any way. Parts of the Horde, maybe, but the Allliance? You can't believe that."

Jaina felt her heart sink. Of course he didn't care about others. One had to be a special kind of sociopath to willingly rule over the Scourge. She was a fool to hope otherwise.

"Don't bury your hopes just yet. I had little time to consider your words, and I need the opinions of my officers. Stay here if you want, chambers have been prepared."

It was not a choice she made easily, but every day counted. "I'll accept your hospitality", she said, even though she shivered at the thought of staying in this cursed place.

The Lich King left, without a word and seemingly in a hurry. The same cultist who brought her here entered to bring her to her chambers, and Jaina braced herself for the nightmares she would most certainly have here.

* * *

Vlad fought against the urge to run as he hurried down to the dungeons. Through his telepathy, he knew that the expedition had returned, and he wanted to see their sucess in person. But mostly, he wanted to see Sintharia again. He was also curious about the inhabitants of the sanctum she brought with her, but she was the center of his thoughts.

They met in the upper level of the dungeons, greeting each other with a hug, protocol and onlookers be damned. After these pleasent yet way too short moments, it was time for introductions between the Lich King and his new allies, both sides slightly nervous about the other. The draconic sides was currently in mortal shape, but Vlad could tell them apart through the memories of the nerubians who had witnessed them transform.

Sartharion looked like the the textbook definition of a grizzled old veteran, with a stern, formal demeanor and eyes that had seen much, maybe too much. Nalice could easily be Sintharia's niece, although she looked to be jumpy at the moment, and the twilight dragons looked like twins with their troubled childhood written all over their faces.

From the other point of view, Vlad was far from physically imposing, but the way he had gotten in position and the respect his subjects showed made it clear that he was a lot more dangerous then he looked. Yet he was no enemy, making the impression of a polite and friendly person, if somewhat unsure about the newcomers. He also was quick to provide them with one the citadel's vaults for them and the eggs they were guarding.

"I missed you", Vlad whispered to Sintharia and kissed her when the others were gone.

"So Sindragosa didn't keep you busy?", she asked coyly.

"She has not returned yet, and even if she had, nothing would have changed. I love you, or at least I think I do."

Sintharia chuckled at the awkward choice of words. "I think I might have fallen for you too. Even this is maybe not the best way to word it."

"The message is what matters here, not the delivery. I'm just so glad that you do feel like you do."

They hugged and kissed again. All in all, this could be called a sucessful day.

* * *

Approaching the nexus had taken all her courage, flying in slowly and prepared to flee at a moment's notice when the guards closed in. And then it had been so much easier, as if a lonely frostwyrm coming back to this ancestral home was nothing too unusual. The still worried guards let her straight to the eye of eternity, and there she saw that she was not the first undead coming here.

"Sapphiron! Where have you been?"

The other frostwyrm remained silent, and Sindragosa realized that they were not alone.

"Malygos! It's so good to see you again."

Malygos winced as he heard her voice, and he was barely able to meet her eyes.

"Why are you here?" His voice came straight out of a grave. "You didn't stay unnoticed like Sapphiron, did you? You are bound to the will of the Lich King, and that means that you are not Sindragosa, you are a puppet wearing her bones."

Now it was her turn to wince. "You can check that. You will find that I have no connection to the Lich King. I am here on my own will."

Both Malygos and Sapphiron did as suggested, and both were suprised by their findings. The magical tether connecting all Scourge creatures to their master had been severed in a clean, methodical way, something few beings at all and definitively no Scourge members were capable of.

"So you are free?" Malygos asked as he examined the tether again.

"Free in my mind, yes. But I vowed to help the Lich King, the price I paid for my free will. I am here for two reasons: One, I wanted to see my flight again. Two, in order to tell you that you don't need to worry about the Scourge anymore. Lich King von Carstein does not want to fight the Blue Flight, and neither do I or the Frost Brood. In fact, we would prefer to be allied with our living kin, and von Carstein would support any efforts of that sort."

Sapphiron and Malygos both stared at her for a moment. Then, the Spellweaver nodded slightly. "We can't support you in the open, for obvious reasons, but we will not fight our kin if their will is truly free."

If Sindragosa had still had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. This was going far better than she had hoped, and she felt right about her decision, right about her trust in her living relatives.

"I cannot stay here however, for I am needed in Icecrown. Sapphiron, I would ask you to come too, but I won't try to force you."

Sapphiron winced and lowered his head slightly. "I can't make that choice now."

"Take your time. Farewell."

* * *

All in all, the keep was suprisingly empty in the middle area. The lower floors housed barracks and were heavily guarded, while the upper spire was filled with flying creatures in addition to the chambers of the high command, but the levels in between were used barely. This was very useful for Jaina as she walked through the halls and corridors. She had to think, and her room would not allow her to focus. The only way not to go crazy in here was to stay on the move, to keep the terrible atmossphere of each room from sinking in.

She didn't actually know what would happen if she got caught. She had been left in her room without being told which areas she was allowed to enter. But the fear of getting caught paled in comparison to her other problems. If she failed here, thousands would die. And there was the issue of her backup plan, a posibility she didn't even want to think about.

"May I ask what you are doing here? You don't look like a local." Deep and sonorous, the voice cut through the silence like a scalpel through flesh.

The man who had interupted her thoughts he came around the next corner, clad in red plate and a strange cloak of silver chainmail. Jaina instantly jumped back, readying a frostbolt in reflex and taking aim. To his credit, the man in red didn't even flinch at the projectile.

"You don't look like a local either", she said, seeing that the red and silver armor didn't look like Scourge equipment and the wearer was clearly alive, his breath visible in the cold.

"Touché, but you didn't answer my question." A smile appeared on his face, a face that looked completely unremarkable save for a short goatee, but the smile twisted his otherwise plain features into something terrifying, the face of an insane murderer on a gleeful killing spree. He took another step forward, still unconcerned about her obvious display of magic and the will to use it against him if provoked.

"No need to be scared," the man said while keeping the very smile that scared her. And he had to be aware of that fact.

"I.. I w... was just trying to get a clear head", she stuttered, unsure whether to attack or to run. Running had the chance of being caught and hit from behind, but fighting someone this creepy always had the chance of proving her fear to be correct. And since she currently was a diplomat and had no clue who he was, it could have other severe consequences.

The smile widened. "So you did what I did. You should try to be less on edge. So people might consider that offensive and would react in a certain unpleasent way." He pointed at the still ready frostbolt and winked.

"Good luck with your own thoughts", he said walking past her, still smiling as he disappeared in the corridor behind her. His steps were relatively quiet, another creepy sign of someone wearing plate armor on a floor made out of stone.

The frostbolt hit the floor when Jaina's fear vanished, now alone again. Whoever that was, his entire presence was utterly terrifying, even worse then the Lich King, and the implications of this observation were something even worse.

Still breathing faster than normally, she made her way back to her room, prefering it to the chance of meeting someone like that again. Using a different way to avoid the man in red, she found the symbol melted into the wall. The edges were still red hot, and it showed a meteor in flight. Jaina had never seen this symbol, but since the only person close by was the scary guy in red and the symbol itself filled the air around it if a sense of malice, she was sure that it meant something really dark, even by the very low standarts of this place.

Vakarthys smiled on the outside, but his thoughts were anything but pleased. It had taken all of his considerable willpower not to teach that human bitch why it was a bad idea to raise a weapon against him. Being incognito was not exactly his prefered way of working, but his orders were clear and splattering a foreign diplomat all over a wall would make his job more diffocult. But if she ever did that again, Vakarthys didn't know of he had the self control to let her away unharmed.


	14. Chapter 13

AN: Wow, this one is actually finished in time. Glory to the Horned Rat!

* * *

 _This truly is a facinating place_ , Theralion thought continuing his exploration of Icecrown, determined to find out what he could about his new supposed home. It was impressive, but he wondered whether it would be strong enough. Not to stop the Alliance, but the true danger, Deathwing. Theralion had only met the corrupted aspect a few times, and each of these occasions had filled him with dread, even in the megalomaniac state he had been in back then. And since he and his sister had aided Sartharion in getting the eggs of the flight out of the sanctum, they would be priority targets for Deathwing. In truth, Theralion didn't think any fortress would be able to stop the mad aspect, but there was still a faint hope. He was no longer alone, he had friends and allies now, and he even got along with Valiona.

And that made the situation even worse in certain ways. Their stay here would not go unnoticed forever, and now he cared for those around him, would be sad if they were to die. Worrying about others was new for him, and it scared him deeply, more so than he would ever want to admit.

His wandering through the citadel had no clear destination, and he did not wait to be shown around. When his way was blocked, he simply turned incorporeal to continue, and stayed so after a while as it was tiring to switch constantly. The walls of rooms around him were lined with sealed metal barrels, but even through those containers, Theralion could smell something in them, something deadly and toxic. _So here they store their poisons. Good to know._ Hearing someone coming, he slid into the wall and the shadows.

The man he saw was not exactly menacing from the outside, but there was something about him that gave Theralion the creeps. Something about this zombified man scared him, perhaps the utterly insane glare behind his glaces. Without any cause, the man broke into laughter, a laughter even crazier than his eyes. His rotting claws closed reached out for one of the barrels, and began to open it. Heavy greenish-yellow fog was released, and the undead swiftly moved to the next barrel to repeat the process.

Even with his very limited experience, Theralion could see this as the obvious treason that it was. Doubtful of his own abilities to stop a most likely prepared and dangerous traitor, he chose to run and warn the others. The gas could not harm his incorporeal form, but could see the effects on some of the creatures it suprised, and those effects were far from pretty. Flesh began to rot and blister immidiately, and those affected fell on their knees and coughed up the sliming remains of their guts as their skin and muscle fell apart.

With no time to waste on subtlety, he shifted into his true form and roared as loud as he could, a warning every fool would understand, before jumping through the next wall. More of the physical beings all around died, but now some of them had heard his warning, and the Lich King would know what his subjects felt.

* * *

The first minutes minutes of the gas attack killed hundreds in the same gruesome ways and through the entire western part of the citadel into chaos, but now the inhabitants could react. Hastly measures were taken, but without a plan, they could do nothing but run while confusion spread and casualties rose.

Vlad awoke when the telepathic link to his subjects made him feel that some of them died, and while he opened his eyes and blinked, the roar of a dragon tore through the air and woke up anyone who wasn't already woke or dead. Knowing that a coordinated response was more important than a single wizard or frontline fighter, he closed his eyes again and began sending mental commands to all the undead he could reach. As he did, he felt that he could no longer reach many of the mindless constructs in the fortress.

 _Rimefang, I need your eyes._

 _Take a look sir, but I have to concentrate down here._

The eyes of the frostwyrm showed a chaotic fight in one of the last western halls the gas had not reached. All around, abominations and other golems battled those undead still controlled by the Lich King. Rimefang was currently busy crushing the head of a flesh golem between his jaws, but his senses still allowed Vlad to get a usable impression of the general situation. And so he saw the gas slowly leaking into the room.

 _Rimefang, freeze the corridor shut! We have to contain the gas!_ Vlad began sending the same order to his other ground troops. If the gas was out of the equation, his forces would be able to take the constructs down. And with the help of his new allies, the traitors would be annihilated soon enough.

He stretched his mind even further, accessing even more eyes and ears all over Icecrown. What he saw filled his heart with pride. Under his mental guidance, the Scourge went to work as the uncompromising, effiencent warmachine it was supposed to be. And the view he got was nothing short of amazing, something Vlad could appreciate even under these circumstances. The view of a death knight fighting side by side with his comrades, martial and magical prowess honed for years and backed by an untiring body. A val'kyr diving out of the sky to skewer another golem and instantly healing a wounded nerubian afterwards. And the images a Darkfallen priest saw while blasting away with bolts of shadow magic. Few moments later, the same priest witnessed one of the black dragons jumping into the fray, although Vlad could not tell whether it was Sartharion or Nalice. Not that it mattered, the living dragon was a monster bigger than any frostwyrm save for Sindragosa he had ever seen, and fought with a precision unnerving for such a large creature. Fangs, claws and a whipping tail found their marks with deadly accuracy while avoiding all loyal undead. Just another few seconds later, all traitors in the room dead meat.

The plan worked in the other sectors, loyal troops closing all corridors with thick walls of solid ice. Unable to get help from their comrades on the other side and without gas and suprise on their side, the constructs stood little chance in the fights, although they still inflicted losses before they fell. It took only a couple of minutes before the last abomination was torn apart by a twilight dragon jumping out of a wall. With fighting over for now, Vlad opened his own eyes again and hurried to get into his fighting gear. He put his bracers on as he ran through the corridors, knowing that his enemies still had quite a few troops on the other side of the ice barriers, and that any smart foe would have a way to protect his own forces from the gas.

More telepathic commands followed, commands for reinforcements and more ice magic to keep the corridors sealed. He arrived at one of the seals, meeting a concerned Keleseth and Sintharia in her true form.

"How many constructs are on the other side of those walls?"

Keleseth sighed and thought for a moment. "Maybe a few hundred? I don't know the number of our constructs, or their losses. I would be more worried about the gas." Keleseth was also worried about the dragon next to him, but it had been a helpful dragon and Keleseth wanted it to stay like that.

The dragon in question gritted its impressive teeth. "I might have a solution for both problems. Please tell me more about the gas."

"Its a semi-magical bio-chemical agent, deadly to the living and undead alike. Its obviously extremely toxic, works both on the lungs and the skin, highly flammable, resistant to healing magic and immune to conventional medicine..."

"Flammable? Well that is something we can work with." The dragon grinned. "I know how to handle this."

Keleseth looked to his king, and von Carstein smiled. "What is the plan?"

"Wait a few minutes for everyone to get to the right place. We need one creature able to create fire on each barrier, and a second barrier a few meters behind the first for the flame user to take cover. On the command, we create a small hole in each ice wall, and then we lighten up this place."

The Lich King's grin widened. The mental link worked wonders, and it took little time to set up the inferno. Keleseth wondered what madness had grapped Putricide to make that stuff flammable. _If the red dragons would have attacked... Damn, any artillery strike would have been enough to level the tower and an entire section of the walls. The old nutcase was even crazier than before._

Vlad watched in awe as the little spark caused by a weak spell reached the gas on the other side of the ice wall and seemed go set the very air alight. A tidal wave of hellfire raced down the corridor, and he knew that the same thing happened in seven other places. The flame turned the constructs behind the barrier to ash, and about eleven seconds after the first spark, they reached the gas storage in the plague tower. Hundreds of barrels filled with the same gas and hundreds more containing other substances, some of them even more volatile than the gas.

The ground shook as if an angry god had smashed his fist against the citadel, and the tower with its suroundings disappeared in an explosion greater than the central keep of Icecrown, hurling flames and tons of debris hundreds of meters into the air before both crashed back down on the ruins of the tower's basement and the closer buildings. Everyone with less than for legs was knocked down, and even those with a higher number of limbs struggled to stay standing. But despite all the damage it caused, Vlad loved the sight as he got back on his feet. This was the right way to deal with traitors of all sorts, and he would not hesitate to use it again should the opportunity arise.

* * *

Jaina had barely awoken from some substantial commotion and the roar of a monster when she heard what could only be an absolutely massive explosion in relatively close proximity. The blast shook the very foundations of Icecrown and threw her out of her. A simple look out of the window removed whatever shadow of doubt she could have had, the giant expanding cloud of fire, shattered stone and shreds of saronite could not be missed even if one actively tried. Whatever happened down there, it was most certainly ugly.

She heard her bodyguards crashing through the door of her suite, but they stayed there, probably not willing to meet their employer in a state of undress. Their sense of protocol even while facing a potential disaster made Jaina chuckle in spite of the overall situation. Especially since he had fallen asleep fully clothed after she had returned from her frightening nightly encounter with man in red.

So she was the one to opened the door and join her guards, wary of her suroundings but not overtly scared. Panic would not help her, and after meeting the man in red, she was determined to stay calm and rational, even more so than before. Her guards quickly took positions around her, weapons drawn and ready. Over the general commotion, they all could here the sound of armored boots marching in unison.

A tight formation of heavily armored skeletons marched out of the corridor and spread around the entrance. Their leader was someone Jaina had hoped not to meet again.

"Tell your guards to calm down", Rivendare said as the first swords were pointed at him. "The Lich King wants his guest secured until this mess is sorted out."

Realizing how bad their odds were in a fight, the guards lowered their weapons without the need for any direct orders, no matter how wrong it felt to be in the same room with the undead. It was not like they had many options to choose.

Nearly a full hour passed before the crisis was officially over. Finally, an all clear was passed through the fortress, and the undead soldiers were called of to assist in searching the rubble for anything useful that might have somehow survived the inferno.

"If it is possible, I would like to meet the Lich King and then leave this place as soon as I can. It seems to be far less safe here then I thought."

Rivendare shrugged. "I can relay your message, but I would expect the Lich King to be more than a little busy at the moment."

"Fair enough. I can wait if necessary."

* * *

With the disaster under control and the traitors turned to ash and dust, Sintharia turned back into her human form. She saw the looks many of the undead here through at her, but they didn't dare to say anything. Even less since the Lich King made no effort to be more careful around her than before. Instead, Vlad ordered the undead to leave, both to put them to use and to have some privacy. As her transformation ended, she could feel something new on her hand.

It was a very nice looking ring, seemingly fragile, but made from adamantium. A single large ruby was shining in the light of the burning remains of the tower, held by the claws of small dragon statue. She could feel the magic woven into the heavy material and the gem.

"This is a wonderful gift. Is it supposed to be an engagement ring?"

"If you wish for it to be one, yes." Vlad sounded more than a little nervous. "Otherwise, just consider it a gesture of affection."

"Oh, don't worry, I like it. All of this is just happening very quickly."

Vlad sighed. "We are in a most dangerous position. I wanted to reveal my feelings before one of us came to harm."

"You are honest about your fears. Too many would try to hide these sentiments from the world and themself."

"No point in lying to yourself, and it is downright harmful not to fear a real danger, so why try it? And I would rather be honest when talking to my beloved."

Sintharia smiled. "Well said. How are the negotiations going?"

"This Lady Proudmoore seems to really want some sort of peace treaty, but she is hopelessly naive and her superiors are less trusting than she is. Maybe we can get some sort of temporary truce fighting the monster emerging from Ulduar, but it won't last."

"Emerging monsters?" Sintharia's eyes flared. "Don't tell me you too met this tentacled beasts."

"They tried to attack the fortress, and found their end. According to Proudmoore, they also attack the living and serve a being called Yogg-Saron."

"Yogg-Saron!" The hatred in her eyes and voice was so absolute that even Vlad took a step back.

"Do you know this creature?" The vampire didn't dare to speak the ancient name again.

"Not personally. But it is the name of one of the old gods, one of the beings responsible for the corruption of my flight. I cannot begin to describe the hatred I feel for them."

"I see that, and you should know that I will support you, whatever you have to do. Should we ally with the living?"

"Yes. We will need all the cannon fodder we can get, and the more enemies we lose storming Ulduar, the better. Let them batter each other before we strike. They won't be stupid enough to fall for obvious traps, but causing lots of casualties during the assaults should be easy enough."

Happy about their united scheming, they made their way back to the keep arm in arm, looking forward to a sucessful, well plotted future, unhindered by this problem.

* * *

Jaina met the Lich King again less than an hour later. Not bad given how bad the destroyed tower and the burning debris looked. But von Carstein seemed unfazed by would was either sabotage or an accident of truly epic proportions, but most likely sabotage.

"I know you want to leave soon, so I will get to the point. After talking with my officers, it is clear that we need to face the threat from Ulduar together if we want to prevail."

Jaina was taken aback by the answer, so different from his indifference from the day before. "You have changed your mind quite drastically."

"I had not all the important information yesterday, that's why I have my advisors. I hope you still think the way you did."

"I do", Jaina said, but as she did, she felt a sudden, burning sensation in her stomach. She jumped up, her hands clawing at the table.

Vlad jumped up too, ready to fight, but no spell was fired at him, and Proudmoore didn't draw a knife either. Instead, she stumbled a step forward and collapsed on the floor.

 _Damnit. I can't have a diplomat dying on the floor of my office._

He rushed for to the fallen mage, wondering why she had gone down. Since time could be essential, he drew his dagger, cutting her arm and tasting a drop of her blood. The poison he tasted was unknown to him, but its nature was unmistakeable. He had to react swiftly.

* * *

The hooded cultist stalked the deserted corridors of the middle levels of the citadel, seemingly lost in thought, something that happened very easily in the silence. But these days, the deserted area was not as empty as they used to be. The place had an undeniable attraction to those wishing to think lonely thoughts of a shady nature. With the paranoia of those who knew what awaited them upon detection and senses honed to razor's edge to avoid such a fate, it was only a question of time before they found out that they had company.

The hooded cultist and the man in the red armor soon met eye to eye, and both thought in very similar ways. Both considered an immidiate, preemptive strike. Both knew that they had no need for witnesses, and both wanted to know why the other was here. And both of them thought to be in complete control of the situation. This would not end well, and this was yet another thing they both were aware of.

"Lost in your thoughts too?" The cultist asked, sounding so innocent that he was obviously guilty.

"Not quite." The man in red smiled his psychotic smile. "I heard the mess in the western fortress happening, and I have the feeling that something else is going down. Call it a hunch, but I have had this feeling very often and was correct in eight or nine out of ten cases. And I just waited in this deserted place, were anyone could hide in plain side, disappear without leaving the fortress. And guess who the first and only person in this area happens to be who is not just using the stairs. Since I do trust my feeling, you better have a good explanation.

The hooded cultist shrugged and chuckled. "Actually, your are the first person lurking in the shadows here. And maybe you have that feeling because you are the one making things happen. Memories can cause all sorts of strange feelings."

"Not bad. So we are both suspcious individuals in the wrong place at the wrong time, both unknown to most of the locals, you because you look generic, like every other cultist, and I because I got here just a few days ago. What should we do now? Perhaps we can share a few experiences."

The cultist chuckled again. "You seem far nicer than most people who wait in the darkness to stab someone. We might be able to come to an agreement. These empty halls are big enough for the two of us. It don't know and don't care what you want, and my plans probably don't concern who. At least, I assure you that I won't target you."

In truth, the cultist was more than a little worried. The man in red had made an impressive entrance a few days ago, and anyone who could take a vrykul greataxe to the head was certainly no pushover. When the inevitable happened and things got bloody, he had to be swift and precise, making sure one strike would finish the ensuing fight. He reached for the dagger hidden in his sleeve, but made sure to hide the motion with great care.

The man in red came closer, his hands still empty. "You say nice words to me, but that won't be enough to save you. I might need far more to let you get away. The chance is just to good to be passed over."

"And what would you want to know to let me go? We surely can figure something out."

"How about your name, your mission, your plans and a few question regarding Azeroth in general?" The man in red was only a few steps away now.

Knowing when to take a chance, the cultist jumped into action, drawing the dagger and slashing at his enemy in a single motion. With a strength far beyond the capabilities of a mortal body, the dagger closed the distance with the target's neck. The man in red didn't remain still however, and has he moved, the dagger hit his left pauldron, scratching the crimson armor before continuing and slashing through skin and flesh. The cultist turned the first attack into a second one, pulling the blade upward and cutting the man in red across the face. More blood was spilled, but the man in red remained unfazed. Time for a counter attack.

The man in red grapped the cultist, one hand holding the wrist of the hand with the dagger, the other one closing around the cultist's throat. He slammed the cultist against the wall, the gashes on his face and neck disappearing as if they never existed. The cultist got a spell off and vanished, but the man in red was not done with him yet.

At the destination of the hasty teleportation, the cultist dropped the mask of mortality and changed into his true demonic shape. The green-winged dreadlord knew that his enemy might follow him, but he was not prepared for what he faced. A gargantuan claw closed around his body, threatening to crush very single bone in his torso. Mal'ganis sighed. The day had begun so well.

"Now we can talk openly. So, what exactly where you doing here?" Vakarthys was happy for the excuse to be back in his true form.

"You think I will betray the legion?" Mal'ganis tried to stay calm.

"This is the Twisting Nether?" Vakarthys took the time to look around, pretenting not to care about the dreadlord. "And while this looks like a nice home for a demon, I do know that you will die for good if I kill you here. So yes, I do think you will tell me everything I want to know while we are here."

Mal'ganis knew when he had lost, and he valued his life far more than any loyalty to his superiors. "What do you want to know exactly?"

"Why are you in Icecrown? What does your master plan?"

"I was send here to make sure the Scourge and the mortals continue their war. I poisoned Jaina Proudmoore to ensure that. I don't know what my master plans, but I know the gas attack and Putricide's treason were part of it."

"And who is your master?"

"Another dreadlord by the name Tichondrius."

"That was not too difficult, was it? Just don't cross paths with me again."

Vakarthys grinned and dropped the demon before teleporting back to Icecrown. These were no celestials, but they were worth his attention.

* * *

The day had finally come, and Ikit would make sure it belonged to Clan Skyre. They had broken through most of the defenses the beard-things had put in their way, and now it was time to strike at their of Skaven rushed through the tunnels, while other companies advanced over the mountainside, searching for other entrances like smokestacks to hit the beard-things inside from another direction.

The clanrats and slaves surged forward, and the beard-things showed their insidious genius again. Tunnels collapsed, others were filled with burning oil, and those leading to the actual city were sealed with steel doors fitted with numerous firing ports. Wave after wave of skaven died, but their leaders cared not. This attacks was only meant to find the right tunnels, nobody expected any military sucess from it.

But once the last skaven fell, Ikit knew where to strike. Squads of Stormvermin escorted engineers with blasting charges to the gates, and warp drill teams went to work to burn their own tunnels into the rock. The army on the outside met their enemies coming out from hidden gates, and soon enough the sound of clashing blades and gunfire echoed across the snowy mountains, along with the screams of the dying.

But the beards would not give up. The new tunnels were swiftly blocked by shield walls, and most of the engineers never reached the gates. The skaven returned the favor soon, torching shield formations with flame throwers and suppressing firing ports with a constant barrage of rattling gun bullets. No side would give way, and the corpses pilled up in the tight underground battlefields would create a need for yet more new tunnels. And despite all efforts by the Under-Empire, the beard-things held firm and they had long called for help, a help that made been on its way for quite a while.

The first sign of the arriving reinforcements was a strange sound like rapidly flapping wings, followed by cannon fire and explosions among the skaven charging over the mountain. Ikit looked around to find the spontaniously appearing artillery, and what he saw filled his mind with equal parts of greed, envy and rightous rage.

The object of his desiring hatred was an airship, and it was a vehicle much larger, more complex and with much in the way of weapons. The moment he saw this flying behemoth raining death onto his troops, he knew that had to stop it and aquire one such vehicle for himself.

Of course his moronic underlings crewing the artillery reserve failed miserably at both of these most obvious tasks, either missing the airship with their warp lightning cannons or hitting obviously heavily armored sections of their target. Cursing their souls in the name of the horned rat, he made his way to the next cannon. The swift strike of his claw took care of the gunner foolish enough not to jump out of the way as Ikit reached the controls. Knowing better than to play it safe, he channeled his own magic into the already unstable warpstone lense, an action endangering the weapon but also increasing its power drastically. He cackled maniacally as he took aim, displaying a skill with the wicked machine only a truly deranged genius could aquire.

The bolt of warp lightning found its mark as the cannon released all its energy in a single concentrated blast, a blast that shattered the weapon itself and hurled Ikit away. But the master warlock could only break into psychotic laughter as he saw the bolt of energy hitting. With his masterful aim, the bolt hit one of the massive engines keeping the airship afloat, and the overcharged shot promptly turned the engine along with the entire front left side of the airship into burning scraps of wood and steel. With the moaning and screeching of overstretched materials, the behemoth tumbled to the side and fell, but the crew could keep enough control to crash their vehicle into the skaven lines, turning dozen of them into blood smear. But Ikit could only continue laughing as he sent his stormvermin to secure the wreckage.

It didn't matter that the first attack had been a costly defeat, no one would take a beard-thing burrow on the first go. But now Ikit had an airship for the future. Of course, it was currently a burning wreck, but this would not discourage any warlock engineer worth his title. The airship would rise again, it would not be alone, and once his airfleet was ready, Clan Skyre would rule any world they laid eyes on!

With these visions of greatness filling his mind, Ikit ordered another wave attack on the beard-things and the removal of the wreck. He needed some time for his perfect creation, and these worthless idiots should thank the Horned Rat because their deaths would buy time for the final triumph of the great Under-Empire!

This was a glorious day for Clan Skyre, and Ikit would do anything to ensure that it was only the beginning. And in a very short time, even Morskittar wouls tremble before the endless genius and unlimited power of Ikit Claw, the true chosen of the Horned Rat and rightful ruler of all Skavendom! The universe would bow to him and his titanic mind and iron paw!

* * *

Once again watching the chaos and carnage his agents had caused, Dahak was very pleased indeed. And it would only get better from here, since the skaven had the ability to throw more and more meat in the grinder and this would not stay unnoticed. Dahak knew about the Burning Legion, knew that they would do anything to take Azeroth, just as the inhabitants of this world would do anything to stop the demons. The Legion would wait for the right moment to join the slaughter, and his agents would do the same. And he was capable to ensure that both sides would choose the wrong time and find their enemies battered, but still standing. The Endless Destruction had little interest in a short campaign, to properly feast on the carnage, it had to be a longer war between factions of similar strength. Perhaps some of those involved would discover his scheme, and Dahak would respect those who did. Which would not necessarily save them, but it would increase their chances. He could always use new smart minds within his entourage, and it was even better if they knew how to survive in less than favourable circumstances...


	15. Chapter 14

AN: Being in the hospital sucks. An obvious fact, but still true. This Chapter sadly got even less spell-checking than usually.

* * *

This day. It had started as a bloody mess, and it continued to be one, although in a less literal way. Proudmoore was unconcious, her breathing unsteady, and while Vlad didn't know the poison in her system, it was obviouly effective. He called for his guards, both telepathically and with his physical voice, and ordered them to get Proudmoore's men too. Maybe they knew how to counter the toxin, something he could not.

"What has happened?", an older knight asked upon entering. Seeing their lady lying on the floor, he and the other soldiers from Kul Tiras reached for their weapons. "What have you done to her?"

"She's been poisoned. If I wanted her dead, you would not be here. Do your job and help her." Vlad was calm on the outside, but his thoughts were not.

"How can we trust you?"

"Why would I use poison? A blade would do the same job swifter. And you would have been killed in your sleep rather than being called to aid your lady."

The old knight kneeled down next to Vlad and examined to symptoms. He cursed into his beard. "This is a demonic poison. No antidote, and our priest is not powerful enough to stop it." The old knight stared straight into the vampire's eyes. "You have to save her!"

"You do realize that there is nothing I can do? I'm no healer, and I have never seen this poison."

"You have to do something!", one of the others yelled. "You're the Lich King, for fuck's sake!"

Vlad growled and thought for a moment before turning back to the old knight. "How long before she dies?"

The expression on the old man's face was twisted by pain, but his voice was still clear. "In her condition, maybe an hour and a half, give or take a few minutes."

Now Vlad took his turn to curse. "Not enough time to get her out of here."

"Can't you teleport her to Dalaran? They won't attack you if we come with you."

Vlad sighed. "I can't teleport." Seeing the looks he got for the statement, he shrugged. "Never learned it, and I regreted that more than once."

"What is going on here?" Sintharia asked as she stepped into the room. Then she saw the unconcious mage. "Oh."

"She got poisoned, could you take a look at her?" Vlad hoped that she would at least fake some resemblance of care for Proudmoore. No way to tell how her guards would react to open indifference. An additional bloodbath would only make things even more complicated than they already were now.

Sintharia was the third person to kneel down next to the mage, and she seemed to know far more about the toxin than the two others combined. She muttered the words of a spell, causing a faint green light to wander up and down over Proudmoore's body.

"Its some sort of highly concentrated, corrosive demonic poison, currently beginning to cause internal bleeding, lots of pain and probably no small amount of organ damage. Since their is no antidote, we have to simply heal the constant damage until the poison exhausts itself. Essencially, we need to drown the poison in life force while we can."

Hearing these words, the priest in the group began his work, but stopped shortly afterwards.

"I'm not strong enough to do this. I healed her, but the wounds simply reappear. All I can do is prolong her suffering." The priest's head sank onto his chest.

"Even if you are no healer", the old knight said to the Lich KIng, "you should be able to provide raw life force."

"Undead life force", Vlad corrected. "And healing living creatures with necromancy doesn't work on normal people." He stood up and sighed again. "If we have no chance to save her, there is still one thing we can do." He drew his dagger again.

"What are you doing?" One of her guards seemed to confused by the stress to realize the obvious intention.

"We can't save her, but we can spare her the pain. A swift death instead of a long, drawn out one. If she is religious, I would suggest you pray for her."

The same guard who had asked the questions rose his sword, and he was not alone in doing so. Vlad remained still, but Sintharia hissed and readied a spell of most likely catastrophic power. "You will not harm her!"

"If you want to do it my stead, go ahead. I'm fairly certain that anyone would prefer a stab through the neck over slowly liquifying innards."

The old knight rose to his feet. "Is there truly no way to save her? Don't you have an expert for poisons in this fortress?"

Vlad smiled a joyless smile. "Our local expert on the matter was a traitor and in the plague tower when it blew up. He won't be any help. To tell the truth, I could save her by turning her into an undead. Judging by your faces her words and basic common sense, she wouldn't like that."

"There might be a way around the problem," Sintharia interjected. "If we were to use some sort of life drain spell, we could take the life of others to heal Proudmoore. No exactly an efficient way and probably fatal for at least one person, but it should theoretically work."

The old knight met her eyes with a stern glare. "You are suggesting to drain our life to save her, a process at least some of us won't survive."

"Yes." A simple, matter-of-fact statement, with no effort to make it sound nicer than it was.

The knight took a formal posture. "I vowed to give my life for her if need be. This is far from the end I hoped for, but it is my duty to go down this path."

The other guards showed even less enthusiasm, but they had sworn the same oath, and people who would break such an oath would not have been accepted in the personal guard of a ruler.

The old knight began to pray, and the others joined in. This show of loyalty and determination was something both Sintharia and Vlad could respect. So they waited until the prayers were finished before they went to work, a set of spells to kill the guards to heal their lady. The spells did their work, the guards fell, one by one, bodies crumbling to dust, but their comrades remained steadfast. That was the easy part for the Lich King and the dragon. The difficult part was to transfer the life force in the right pace, quick enough to counter the poison but not too fast, to avoid wasting any of it.

The process took more than fifteen minutes, and it cost the live of all eight soldiers the priest and the knight, yet in the end, it did its duty, and Proudmoore's breath stabilized. Vlad send a few undead to carry her back to her chambers to rest, and Vlad hoped her rest would take a while. He did not look forward to telling her about the events she had missed.

With a sigh, he left the room to take a walk, trying to figure out how to keep the situation as calm as he could. Sintharia in turn left to check on the other members of her flight. Alone again, Vlad wondered how he could tell Proudmoore what happened without causing the war to flare up again. Now that the citadel was damaged and the Scourge had suffered large casualties, he was not as sure about the balance of power as he had been. His chances were still not to bad, but taking risk here would not pay well enough. Still in thought, he removed his armor, sending it into his pocket dimension. To get his mind away from some of the current problems, he shut most of his telepathic communication with the other undead. Now he walked in silence, and slowly he began to consider the full extent of the latest disaster. Icecrown could now be assaulted with a decent chance of sucess, and without most of the constructions and no gas, holding the ruined wall would be much more dangerous.

Now it would be actually benefical to call a stable truce with the invaders, at least until the walls were repaired. Rivendare would have it taken care of, but it would take time, and he had to get them this time in some way.

Lost in his thoughts about damage control, Vlad didn't sense the hooded figure approaching him from behind until it was just a single step away. When he recognized the approach, he knew instinctively that this was not a friendly person. He turned on his heel only to feel a hand grapping his shoulder, and an intense pain as the fingers of his attacker closed in an impossibly strong grip, crushing tissue and breaking bone. Vlad screamed in pain, only to feel more of it as his attacker drove a dagger into his chest. He struck back with his functioning left arm, slashing his claws across a hooded face and drawing blood, but it did seem to faze his opponent. The dagger came forward again, the blade burried in his lung, back out, another step between his ribs. With no other options and instinct and panic taking control, Vlad jumped against his attacker, sending both of them to the ground, and as they fell, the vampire pulled himself towards his foe and sank his fangs into the enemy throat, a move his attacker didn't expect.

The bite had his effect, and the wounded would-be killer felt panic too, crushing Vlad's shoulder even more and stabbing him again and again and again, leaving fine clothes as blood-soaked rags and Vlad's chest a mess mangled, bleeding meat. But the dagger didn't find the vampire's heart, and so the damage caused was painful, but not crippling. Vlad in turn bit down with all his strength, tasting blood unlike any he had ever had before. And then, just as the attacker had appeared, he vanished with an inhuman, moaning screech.

Breathing heavily through his torn lung despite no needing to do so, Vlad began one of the invocations of Nehek to stop the bloodloss and heal himself, but the dagger had been magical, and so most of his injuries would need time to heal even with his magic at full potential. Vlad silently cursed his attacker with all the hatred he could muster. Getting injured was something he was used to, but his wound could usually heal with a few hours or at worst a few days. This would be different, a grim reminder that for all immortality had given, he was not invulnerable for those with means and knowledge.

Vaguely, he could see several undead approaching, securing a perimeter but no daring to come to close. Sintharia arrived only a few moments later, her hands covered in the flames of a spell ready to use, but she dropped the spell and rushed to his side. Wasting no time with pointless questions, she simply picked Vlad up and carried him back to his room, the fire in her eyes enough to ensure a free path. Ignoring his weak attempts at protesting, she placed the vampire on his bed and began to shout various orders to everyone nearby.

"Until you are recovered, you will stay in bed. I take command for the time being, and I won't negotiate about this", she ordered after making sure his wounds would not worsen were not fatal own their own. A single look at her expression told Vlad that there was indeed no point in arguing. And he had to admit, it felt strangely good to see her care about him. With no doubts about her competence and more than enough knowledge about the severity of his injuries, he leaned back and watched her take charge, using the eyes of mindless undead to see what his own eyes could not. To feel a little safer, he placed a dozen graveguards in his own room, and prepared to call more backup in case there were more assassins and traitors within the fortress.

Shouting more order to various undead in close proximity, Sintharia felt how her burning rage faded away in favor of cold, determined wrath. She would find the assassin if he was still alive, and if she did, he would be able to write an entirely new dictionary definition of the word suffering. But now she had to focus on running the Scourge and keeping Icecrown save. Time to call for a meeting of the high command, a necessity since she didn't share the mental connection of the undead.

* * *

The meeting took place half an hour later, and Sintharia saw lots of worry and little support. Most of those present didn't trust her, and even less so since she had invited Nalice and Sartharion to attend. If Rivendare wouldn't have confirmed that Vlad had named her his right hand, they might simply ignored her. Her burning eyes made them more than a little nervous, for without mind control the high command valued their own lives quite a bit.

"You all know what transpired less than an hour ago. Since I am supposed to lead you until the Lich King has recovered, I need to know the latest developments on all fronts and in all internal affairs." She turned to face the Val'kyr sisters. "Have you decided whether or not you want to belong here? You can't delay your answer forever."

One of them nodded. "We cast our lot in with the Scourge, it is too late to continue on our own, and we see the strength in unity."

"Very well then. Now, what else has happened?"

The answers to the question took more than three ours, but the important details were the losses suffered earlier today and the damages caused to the western walls. Positive news came from Sindragosa, who had managed to secure the support of the blue flight in the future, and from the spies in Dalaran. Apparently a group of humanoid rats had attacked Ironforge, and when the Alliance pulled part of their forces back, the Horde did the same, fearing it to be a ploy to get more troops for an offensive in the Eastern Kingdoms. But the good news were sadly not alone, the scouts reported more Faceless Ones emerging from Ulduar, and more troops of the Scarlet Crusade landing at the shore. The fanatics had yet to reach Icecrown, but when they did, they would come in substantial numbers.

With a head full of thing to worry about and Vlad stuck in bed, Sintharia had to improvise somewhat. Usually she wouldn't tolerate the doubts of her authority by the high command, but bashing heads in would likely send the nervous undead into open rebellion. Even though Vlad would recover, the assassin had dealt a heavy blow. Sintharia knew not too much about the Scourge, and she didn't trust its leaders. But she could trust Sartharion and company, and if Sartharion knew one thing, it was guarding something. _Like the upper levels of the central spire_. Giving him any responsibility would make the undead even more nervous, but they would survive it and she needed to take control properly.

With this in mind, she gave the next set of orders. The sooner as this mess was under control, the sooner everyone here could calm down. There would certainly be enough to do in the following time without repairing walls and searching surviving traitors in the rubble. A few constructs had survived in the underground chambers below the plague tower, and while some of them had come back under control, they now had to scour every inch of the ruin to make sure there would not be more attacks from the inside.

Seeing the dark sky through the window of the war room, Sintharia decided to leave the day as it was, a bloody mess with two barely avoided catastrophes and still much to do. However, she remembered something or rather someone after she left the room.

"Keleseth, were is this Lord Vakarthys who arrived a few days ago? I have to have a word with him, and I want to know what he did since his arrival."

"He his in the third southern tower, and there is not much to say about his activities. Only the Lich King knows why he is here, but we kept our eyes on him." Keleseth was rather hesitant to reveal the last part. "As for what he did and does, he seems to be a shirtchaser with an eye on members of the Cult of the Damned, and a sucessful one. He even tried his charms on a Val'kyr."

"And he his still alive and well after that?"

"Unharmed, as far as I know."

* * *

Sintharia made her way to the mentioned tower, but she would not take unnecessary chances. So she took Sartharion, Nalice, Valiona and Theralion with her. She wanted to confront Vakarthys alone, but the four would stay nearby, just in case things went downhill.

There were no undead guarding the tower in question, the Scourge seeming all too happy to avoid the "guest" and continue their duties everywhere else. So much for the undead being fearless.

Nobody reacted to her knocking at the door, but Sintharia had no patience for formalties, so she simply opened the door herself. She stepped in the empty building, and while she didn't know in which of the many rooms Vakarthys lived, she only had to follow her ears. The moaning sound accompanying the carnal pleasures was dampened by at least one heavy door, but the senses of a dragon were easily able to hear it still.

Making her way up the staircase, the sound stopped. It could of course be a coincidence, but Sintharia didn't think so. Her arrival had been sensed, and this made her wondered. Did Vakarthys feel someone entering? Had he not heard the knock on the door, or had he not cared? And if that was the case, did he know who had knocked?

Some light came out of a partially open door, and Sintharia chose to take that as an invitation. The door opened further without any sound, and she brought up the strongest defensive spells she could muster. In the room, she saw a man in a crimson robe and a face so plain and average that she would have trouble describing or remembering it, were it not for a short goatee and the smile on his lips. It was the kind of smile to unnerve anyone seeing it, and especially the one it was about. Sintharia countered with a glare, the kind of gaze that would make most people reconsider the life choices that had let them here. The man in red, most likely Lord Vakaethys, smiled even wider.

"Pardon me, but you look utterly adorable."

She was suprised by this compliment, although it was obviously an insult too. Vakartys continued.

"Just like a kitten trying to eviscerate your hand, eyes filled with a wrath to make a god shiver as tiny teeth try to break your finger's neck while soft paws grab it. Completely harmless despite desiring to give you a painful death and convinced of its own power."

It was tempting to fire a shadow bolt at him, to wipe that smile of his face, but self control was a lession Sintharia had learned. And there was something about the conviction in his voice as he spoke his words, the tone of someome who believed every word he said. And that made her wary.

"You are not alone here, are you?" She changed the topic to get some time to think.

"No, but my bedwarmer doesn't want to be seen. She would be embarrased if she had to admit falling for my charms."

"How so?"

"Because I didn't even try to be charming. All I did was show of some of my power, and she was willing to jump into my bed without even knowing me. Of course she is attracted to power of all sorts, she wouldn't have joined the cult otherwise. But I can see why she doesn't want her shallow nature to be revealed like that."

"Back to the topic. I do have a certain feeling that you know something you are not telling me, something I would want to know. I ask you to correct that disparity." Sintharia kept her voice calm, but stern.

"I know quite a lot of things, but I won't tell you until I deem the time and circumstances right. And don't try to force the issue, it won't end well for you." All the time, the same psychotic smile stayed on his face.

Damn, she wanted to wipe that smile of his smug face so badly, but she also knew that trying would get her into serious trouble. There was no way of telling if she could take him on in a one on one fight, or even with the others on her side. And it would not be helpful to fight supposed allies, even if the ally in question was a secretive, arrogant asshole holding back vital information. He might be useful, even or maybe because he was probably highly dangerous.

"What are you actually supposed to be doing here? I doubt you came here to fuck cultists and keep useful information back."

A chuckle. "Not quite. I am here to watch out for the activities of celestial creatures and their allies, to find such creatures and prevent them from interfering with the plans Azarneth has put into motion. And if I can, I have to find those responsible for their attack on Azarneth, I am to make them pay."

"So why are you keeping secrets and stay in this tower instead of doing anything to actually help? If you are even close to being as mighty as you pretent, you could have stopped many of those constructs or burned the gas away. But you chose to hide in here." Sintharia took a deep breath to calm down, and managed to keep her wrath under control.

"Nobody asked me for help, and treacherous undead throwing constructs and gas against their former comrades were not part of my mission."

She rolled her eyes at that. "You can't think anyone would fall for that excuse."

A chuckle. "No. I just think it is rather amusing."

Sintharia turned away and left, knowing the limits of her self control and the dangers of confronting a being of unknown power. Better to retreat now than to get stuck in an unwinable fight. Part of her wanted to turn around, to start a fight with a suprise attack and burn or slash that psychotic smirk of his face. But reason managed to keep wrath in check, at least for now.

Since all the orders she had given would need more time to achieve anything, she used the time to check on Vlad. Of course, his state had also not changed much, but it was difficult enough to leave his side in the first place.

"How do you feel?", she asked entering his room before realizing how silly the question was. It caused a sad smile on Vlad's face.

"My shoulder has been crushed and I got stabbed more than a dozen times with a magical dagger that screws with my magic and my regeneration. But aside from those little inconviences, I'm more or less fine. But jokes aside, thanks for looking after me."

"Of course I look after you."

"How are you doing with all the responsibility? You have for a few hours and I can already see it taking a toll."

"It's not the responsibility, this the lack of trust the Scourge has in me. I know how to rule, but I also know how badly I have to worry about the loyalty of scared, distrustful subjects. And there is this Vakarthys. He is keeping something secret, something important, and since I can't force him to reveal it, we have to find it out on our own."

Vlad sighed. "I don't think we can truly focus on discovering secrets kept by Vakarthys. The list of those who might be behind the Putricide's is endless, especially since so many could profit from our demise. It could also be the deed of a lonely maniac. Ensuring our safety against further attacks of all kind is currently more important than finding potential backers of such attacks."

"I know that!", she said, more angry than intented. "I just hate having someone on our side who doesn't even try to conceal what could be considered treason."

Another sigh. "I don't like having him here either, but Azarneth warned me about him. And if Azarneth worries about him, I think he is out our league, as much as I hate to admit it."

* * *

 _Why am I surounded by sudden idiots? They did well in the past, yet now they deliver failure after failure._ Tichondrius was furious. Both Mal'ganis and Varimathras had failed him, and that idiot Mal'ganis even got himself killed. _What made him think he could take on the Lich King alone and win?_ Of course the Legion was unstoppable, but this kind of reckless arrogance was the reason why they had not taken Azeroth as of now.

Varimathras had promised to plunge the Horde into civil war, but his plan for Wrathgate had failed with the overall assault, and he could not instigate betrayal now as he was closely watched. And that left Balnazzar as the only Dreadlord on Azeroth able to act with any degree of freedom, aside from Tichondrius himself. Azarneth had told him about that his master had set sights on Azeroth, and this worried Tichondrius greatly, even more so since he knew barely anything about this master, only that he was most dangerous and had powerful agents to send to Azeroth. And to make matters even worse, his spies had reported that Azarneth had been attacked by unknown angelic creatures and heavily wounded before fleeing. More outside interference was something Tichondrius hated, and know his only contact to one of these forces had been taken out. He had to bring the Legion back into this game, and fast, before someone else screwed up and brought the whole plan down. The only question was the one he had to answer even faster: How?

Of course, he had another card ready to play, one perhaps able to capitailze on the damage Mal'ganis had actually managed to cause. But playing the card in question would mean risking it, and if this attempt failed too, he had very little in the way of alternative options aside from taking matters into his own hands. His superiors wanted to see results, and they wanted those results very soon. If he failed at his task, he would face severe trouble, but not producing results in time might cause even more. With the thought about the rage of those above him inflicting no small amount of fear in Tichondrius, he began the next step in the long process of softening up a world for the conquest in the future. He could only hope for this to work.

* * *

The flight back to Icecrown had been a happy one, until the citadel came into view. The ruined tower was still smoking in some places, and the rubble scattered all across the surounding area was still in the process of being removed. Sindragosa landed on one the plattforms of the spire, but she didn't meet the Lich King there as she expected. Instead, Rimefang was waiting for her, with a grim posture and worried eyes and thoughts.

"What happened here?", she asked the obvious question.

"We were betrayed by Putricide, the plague tower ignited, and in the aftermath, someone tried to kill von Carstein. He survived, but until he recovers, Sintharia has taken command. That is the short version."

"I still have to report to von Carstein directly. Lead the way."

Rimefang did as he was told, and soon after, they stood in the Lich King's chambers. Von Carstein was standing on the balcony, remarkable given his wounds, but he was in visible pain and had to support himself on the railing. He stared up at the sky, brooding and seemingly unaware of the creatures nearby.

"With all due respect, sir, you don't look like you should be anywhere but in bed." Sindragosa cursed herself as she spoke those words.

"You're right." Von Carstein turned around an took a few carefully steps, before sinking into an armchair. The pain from the short walk twisted his expression. "Please, take a seat. Tell me about your leave."

Sindragosa sat down on a couch and began to tell of her journey to the nexus. Von Carstein listened, and while he did, he placed a chess board on the table next to his seat. As her report came to a close, he grinned.

"Damn, you did well. You should be proud of you, keeping the blue dragons out of this mess." He placed the first pieces on the board. "Care for a game? I was told you liked it."

"Sure, if you don't think I should tend to my other duties."

"Don't worry, the situation is under the highest possible amount of control."

"So it is a complete disaster?"

"True. That is why I need to focus on something else at the moment, while I am unable to do anything about. Focusing on one's own inability would only drive one into despair."

Sindragosa certainly knew how that felt, although it had been different circumstances for her. Trying to force the memory back, she moved the first piece on the board.


	16. Chapter 15

Nightmares. Each of them followed the one before, seemingly determined to be worse and more terrifying and disturbing than the the others while sharing their motives of demons dancing in the burning, blood-splattered ruins of old cities and meteors shattering the remaining few buildings.

 _Stratholme. This can't be._ More pictures of the same kind followed, but now they showed different cities. Stormwind. Theramore. Kul Tiras. Dalaran. Then, demons were replaced with the tentacled monsters from Ulduar. _No! None of this is real, and it never will be! I won't allow it to happen! I will to anything I need to do to ensure that this will stay what it is, a freakish nightmare!_

And with the determination to make sure her unspoken words would indeed be true, Jaina Proudmoore opened her eyes to awake in the room she had been given in Icecrown. Every part of her body hurt like hell, especially her head and stomach, and he felt thirst like never before. The was a can filled with water on her nightstand, but even sitting up in bed send a lance of pain up her spine, strong enough to make her wince. He forced herself to do so anyway, and while the cold water was unbelievebly refreshing, she had to sink back down soon. What had happened to her?

Her headache did get slightly better after drinking, but the pain in her stomach remained the same, burning sensation. Accepting her physical status for now, she reached out for her magic, trying to concentrate in spite of overall miserable state. Her abilities were still functioning, although they were hampered by her current weakness. However, her magical sight discovered the marks of some very dark magic within her own body, not enough to tell which kind of spell, but enough to be recognized for what it was.

 _What have they done to me?_

It took Jaina almost an hour of preparations and to gather her strength before she could get out of her bed. Her legs felt as if they were made from straw, terribly unsuited to carry her weight, and so she used her staff to support herself. But standing up was not the last struggle for her to meet on this later cursed day. The antechamber to her suite was empty, even though there would usually be two of her own guards posted there. Now, it was quiet here, too quiet. Unwilling to wander through the citadel alone, the man in red still to fresh in her memory, he knocked at first door to her left, the door of Sir Igor, leader of her personal guard. And as she got no response, she felt the first chill running down her spine. Where was everyone? This was wrong, she felt it immidiately.

The door of the antechamber opened and revealed the well-known but not exactly well-liked form of Baron Titus Rivendare. No need to pretent anything. "Where are my guards? What has happened here?" Jaina reached out for all the magic she could muster in her current state. If Rivendare had made her entourage disappear, she would make him pay. His response was unexpected.

"I don't know that. I am here to escort you to Lady Winters, who will inform you about the latest events." In spite of everything, she somehow believed him. But she would not trust a known traitor.

"What "latest events" are you talking about?" Her own memory was blurry, she just remembered pain and danger.

"It is not my place to talk about these things. Follow me and you'll find out." With very little in the way of other options, she reluctantly followed Rivendare, ready to shoot him in the back should any sort of trap be sprung on the way.

A few nervous minutes of silent walking later, Rivendare opened another heavy door and stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. The room behind the door was not von Carstein's office, although it was not to different: Two chairs, a table, a chimney with a small fire and another door leading to a balcony. But it was even less welcoming, mostly due to the person inside. Lady Winters was not exactly a source of pleasent memories for Jaina, with the strongest connection being the bite of a dagger in her throat, but she would still play nice, knowing Winters to be an opponent she could not face in her state.

"Take a seat," Winters commanded without looking up, prefering to stare into the fire instead, her voice cold as ice. Jaina did as she was told, already somewhat tired from the short distance here.

"Where are my guards, what happened to me, and where is the Lich King?" Jaina snapped, unwilling to continue with the faked politeness and pretentions of niceties.

"Your guards are dead, you barely survived an assassination attempt with demonic poison, and the Lich King is currently unavailable and has left me in command for the time of his absence." It was another cold, matter-of-fact statement devoid of any emotion. Winters continued in the same tone before the shocked Jaina was able to react. "The poison used on you could only be defeated with the healing equivalent of brute force. Your men gave their life to save yours, probably not in the way they thought of when taking their oaths, but they fulfilled them nontheless."

It took Jaina a few seconds of blinking before she could raise her voice again. If she had been in better health, she would have thrown all of her strength into a single blast of magic, but her slef-preservation instinct managed to overpower grief and rage.

"Why didn't you use normal healing to do the same?"

"We didn't really have many other options, since healers for the living are quite rare among the Scourge. The only other way to keep you in this world would have been to turn you into an undead, and von Carstein considered that to be a rather bad idea. And I couldn't care less about whether or not you think me monster."

Jaina's voice turned just as cold as the one she heard. "Where is the Lich King? I won't take your word for anything."

Mentioning the Lich King caused the flicker of an emotional reaction, a faint hint of pain on Winters' otherwise statuesque face. A detail worth noting, even though the voice of the other woman stayed cold as the frozen wasteland outside.

"There was an attempt to assassinate the Lich King. He is under security lockdown, and not one of his enemies will be allowed in his presence. In fact, you should leave immidiately before something else makes me reconsider your status."

"Fine, I go. I hope you know what you are doing." Jaina knew better than to argue from a position of weakness, and arguing with a deranged yet extremly powerful sorceress was even worse. So she left without another word.

* * *

With the human finally gone, Sintharia could focus on something important again. The orders had been given, it was time to retire for the time being. Sending Proudmoore away was not exactly diplomatic, but she had enough to do without worrying about a naive fool distracting her.

"That was slightly less diplomatic than intented," Vlad said in a partially mocking tone. "You could have let talk to me, since my vocal cords are of my parts which weren't stabbed."

"I will not let an enemy near you while you are injured, not even a naive one who thinks this will end with all of us holding hands. You will be save, and I will ensure this stays so."

Their eyes locked, and even if it was uncomfortable truth, Vlad knew she was right, for all of his abilities had only managed to close two the thirteen wounds the assassin had inflicted, and the remaining eleven still caused no small amount of pain. Whatever kind of magic his attacker had used, it was highly destructive, probably designed to make sure a fatal wound stayed fatal, no matter if magical healing was available or not. The blood of the attacker had also caused strange side effects, mostly weird dreams of a barren world with a sky burning in multicolored flame. Vlad was sure to have never seen the place before, but it reminded him of the Chaos Wastes of his old homeworld, and this frightened him more than he would want to admit.

He tried to focus on something else, and Sintharia as just who had to look at in order to forget nightmares and worries for a while. It might not be a subtle approach and some could consider it rude, but Vlad didn't care and neither did she.

Even a foolish mistake could under right circumstances pave the road to victory. The gas attack inside Icecrown had not be very elaborate or well planned, and it certainly had failed, but it had cleared the way for someone else to finish the job. Icecrown had been shown to be far from invincible, and there were many who would take any chance and were willing to sacrifice anything to take the Scourge down. Forced to be somewhat pragmatic, they would exploit any gap in the defenses, neither expecting for granting mercy. And now they had such a gap right in front of their eyes, a chance they might never see again in their lives. Already determined to use any mean necessary to achieve victory, they knew that while their chances were still bad, they would never be better. With iron determination and flaming zeal, the Scarlet Onslaught marched onto Icecrown, to cleanse the world of the Scourge once and for all time.

A more cautious, rational mind could have told them that the assault would still fail, with the Scourge having the advantage both in numbers and magic, as well as fighting on their home ground and in a climate favorable for the living dead. But the few rational minds with the Scarlet Onslaught leaderships had other things in mind, not something as trivial as the survival of their underlings.

Yet many eyes rose to the sky as something gigantic flew overhead, also heading to Icecrown with a speed no army could reach in the deep snow. The flying fortress remembered them of the horrors unleashed by its cousin Acherus, and while this send shivers down the spine of all those who had been there, fear was soon replaced by more zeal, rightous rage and fiery resolve. The days of the Scourge would soon be over, no matter what horrors the Lich King would summon to his side. The time to finally avenge Lordaeron had arrived, and the wicked would be put to flame of the Holy Light!

An army on the march was obviously not hard to spot, especially since the Onslaught didn't even try to hide their presence. More than a few observers followed the trail of soldiers, and none of them did so with sympathy. The crusaders had done a lot to make sure they were almost universally despised, and yet they would be useful tools if one only required fanatism and a complete lack of subtlety.

With the care of someone all too aware of the catastrophic consequences even the smallest mistake would have, Vlad slowly directed the flying necropolis in a safe position above the citadel. It was suprisingly easy to control the massive vehicle, as it reacted smoothly to every command and did so with very little delay. The work its creator had done with the fortress was nothing short of marvellous, a true masterpiece of the arcane arts. This was a weapon able to turn the tide of a war alone, and Vlad was glad that the previous Lich King had not used to do exactly that. He would not repeat the mistake though. Naxxramas would have to play a role in the battles to come, and Vlad already had one in mind. With the necropolis safely positioned, he let go of the control magic and the magical sensor of the vehicle and opened his own eyes, watching the scene from his balcony. The wounds still spread a dull pain through him, but were unable to negate the triumphant mood.

He rose up very carefully, unwilling to risk anything but even less willing to let his injuries dominate him. The scouts had spotted an army marching for Icecrown, and if the things he heard about the Scarlet Crusade were even remotely true, things would get rather bloody. Not that he would mind facing religious zealots, a kind of people he hated with every fibre of his being. But he had to fight smart, for they would be the latest, but far from last enemy. It might even be the chance to test Naxxramas in the field.

 _Gothik, how much weight can Naxxramas carry?_

The telepathic response showed a certain concern.

 _I don't know the exact maximum weight it can lift, but it can still fly if completely loaded with troops and their supplies._

 _Well Gothik, I think we can deal with these crusaders. And this is how we do it..._

* * *

This is getting worse by the day, Loralen thought as she stood guard in the royal quarter of Undercity. The mind behind the treason at Wrathgate had still not been revealed, and this made Her Majesty angry. And everyone here was now walking on eggshells as a result, knowing all too well how bad it would end for them if they enraged their queen any further. And the news becoming it did nothing to better the royal mood. The strange humanoid rats had retreated from Ironforge, and so the Alliance forces there no longer truly bound, a threat to the Horde, even while the damned Northrend offensive was still conducted together. The rats were also an unknown factor, but that meant they could be reasonable or at least useful. The troops at Ironforge however would definitively not be of any use for the Horde or the Forsaken.

And the chase after the one who attacked the Dark Portal had also been a disaster. Her colleague Velonara had come back talking nonsense about some gargantuan dragon fighting angels. Poor Velonara, the things she has seen were certainly horrible to make her halucinate like that. Velonara had now been sent to contact the rats in order to find out if they could be potential allies for the future. And they would need allies since they pissed of the entirety of the Alliance. They had to be a certain impressive kind of insane to actually try to attack Ironforge with no allies and no preparation. But while this kind of madnesss was impressive, it was very ill suited for one's long term survival, and the rats would learn that very soon.

* * *

 _Flying in the sky above Icecrown is definitively an experience you have to make,_ Sartharion thought, his wings beating again as he flew towards the approaching crusader army. He was now in the calmer sky above the northern Dragonblight. It had been years since his last flight in a storm, and while he had no problems as of yet, his lack of recent practice concerned him. He felt bad to leave the eggs in Icecrown, even with all the spells he had placed on the vault and Nalice and the twilight dragons watching over them. Of course Sintharia would also protect them with her live and currently controlled the Scourge. And as of yet, von Carstein seemed to be trustworthy, although many would raise an eyebrow if they found out that Sintharia smelled like him sometimes.

The crusaders marched in good order in spite of the freezing temperatures and the deep snow, probably the result of the faint golden shimmer of a large-scale divine protection spell. Again his lack of practice made him hesitant to judge, but he would estimate their numbers to be somewhere around twenty thousand, give or take a few. His eyes allowed him to take a closer look at their equipment. The majority of the crusaders were infantry, mostly heavily armored in chain and plate, even among those with ranged weapons. Mounts were rare and most of their riders were clearly officers, and Sartharion could not see any flying troops. _The insanity of the true fanatic is indeed a sight to behold, gladly marching into their death._ _And not as a sacrifice to make sure an important cause is served, but for a pointless token gesture in a fight they can't win, a fight unable to truly hinder their enemies_. _Do these fools even think about necromancy? All they will achieve is giving more dead bodies to those they hate the most. Some might just wish to die covered in Scourge blood, but those who planned this must be truly pitiful fools if_ _they think their collective suicide to be worthwhile._

Well out of the range of all ground based weapons and all but the most extraordinary magic users, this was still a hostile area, and so Sartharion took great care to watch the sky for anything flying. The inhabitants of the Wyrmrest Temple were unlikely to react well to his presence since he had left the sanctum, so it was better to simply avoid such encounters if possible.

Naxxramas had passed him a few hours ago, a magnificent sight in all its dark glory despite a few obvious damages. Wyrmrest had been very lucky that Arthas had never put the flying necropolis to use. Sartharion could easily come up with a dozen ways to wreak havoc among enemy lines with such a tool, and if the user was as callous as the Scourge, he could always just crash the fortress into an important target. A wasteful strategy of course, but one that would take the target down definitively and with nearly no chance of survival.

A small flying figure caught his attention, someone flying towards him from the south, currently unrecognizable. His training told him to retreat, not wanting any fight without backup and anything worth fighting over. Curiousity would have him wait and let the situation play out, and his pride told him that unless this was an aspect, he should face any challenger headon and show why Sartharion had been a fitting choice to guard the sanctum. With his responisibilities and the political in mind, he turned north again and flew towards the border of Icecrown, but hovered there, waiting. If this would turn to a fight and he was in danger, he could flee across the border and count on the support of the undead on the other side, for the skies of Icecrown in this area were patrolled by quite a few Scourge flyers.

The other flyer came closer, removing all doubt about this being a coincidence. Sartharion quietly began to cast various protective spells and others to strengthen himself. From his perspective, this wouldn't need to end in a fight, but he didn't know who approached him and wanted to be as safe as possible. The other dragon- it was clearly one- was still approaching, and Sartharion could now see green scales shimmering in the weak sunlight. But the important part could be seen below the scales, and Sartharion could see a weakened physique, frail as if the green dragon had nearly starved not long ago. A good sign of things would go badly.

But the green dragon didn't attack, keeping a respectful distance instead. A respectful distance meant about fifty meters in this case, and most importantly for the respectful part, it meant keeping a somewhat relaxed posture. Sartharion took a deep breath through his nostrils, wishing to get all the information he could get, and the smell of the other dragon was a viable first approach with no need for words.

 _Female, weakened, somewhat frightened, but still dangerous._ Not his best analysis ever, but not useless either. Sartharion relaxed a little, knowing that the green dragoness was indeed weakened and therefore unlikely to take her rather bad chances in a fight. But caution was still the better part of bravery, even though both were useful at times

"Who are you, ma'am, and what do you want?" Sartharion began, trying to keep his own insecurity hidden behind a mask of formality, still ready to strike at a moment's notice should the need arise.

"So it is true, the Black Flight has found refuge in the realms of the living dead," the green one said in a voice far more confident than her smell would make believe. "And yet you don't seem nearly as insane as someone would assume."

"Thanks I guess." Sartharion's expression twisted in the way a human one would if his owner rose an eyebrow. "You didn't answer my question." His tone was slightly amused, yet the green one looked as if she had heard a warning growl or hiss. She quickly regained her composure though.

"I'm Valithria Dreamwalker. I was curious if the rumors were true, and it seems they are."

"So what happens next?" Sartharion was not going to listen to a monolog about the unholy alliance between the corrupted flight and the corrupted rotting flesh or any such wannabe poetic nonsense. "Should I try to make sure the confirmation never reaches anyone?", he asked in a purposefully overly melodramatic tone.

Dreamwalker instantly got the scared expression of someone who had not thought her actions through and had become suddenly aware of the consequences. It was both amusing to see and sad to see that even such an obvious joke would be taken seriously if it came from his flight.

"Relax, I have no reason to do anything of the sort, and I don't want to either. Just tell me what you want, or leave if you have only come to glare at me."

"I was just rather curious regarding those rumors, especially since your kind doesn't has a reputation suitable for guests."

Now Sartharion actually growled, unwilling to be insulted by anyone. "I am aware of our reputation, but as a fellow dragon, you should know that a reputation is not exactly the most reliable source of information for anything. Do you breath fire and is it your hobby to randomly torch barns? Your reputation in human villages would suggest so."

"What is your name? You are much better with words than I expected."

Sartharion mockingly bowed his head slightly. "General Sartharion, warden of the Obsidian Sanctum."

"You are far from your station, and you are not randomly burning stuff. Most curious, but I have to leave."

Watching her fly back in the direction of the Wyrmrest Temple, Sartharion wondered what this awkward conversation meant and what might result from it. And since found no answer, he returned to observing the crusaders. Right now, the marching army had stopped, and the web of protective spells was reinforced with even more divine magic, more power granted by the holy light. For their numbers, it was a rather impressive defensive screen, but no possible amount of magical shielding would allow the crusaders to actually win the coming battle.

Sartharion had to fight down the urge to fly over and cover their lines in fire. Doing so alone would leave him vulnerable if they had an ace up their sleeve, and he had no way of telling if they did. If those casting the spells were to combine their might, they could be able to snipe him out of the sky. No much point in risking that. So he turned around to fly back to Icecrown, nearly lost in his thoughts. Could it be possible to convince Dreamwalker of the partial return of his flight's sanity? Sartharion was not sure and didn't dare to hope for the best, but if it was possible, the future might be a lot brighter than it first seemed.

Entering the sphere of magic protecting Icecrown, Sarhation realized that there was something strange, a distortion within some of the spells in place. It might be nothing, but it could also be a grave threat and therefor could not be ignored under any circumstances, not on his watch. He quickly informed Nalice and set out to find the source of the disturbance. If this was sabotage, it had to be dealt with swiftly and decisively.

* * *

Great minds would create great wonders, and Ikit Claw had always known that he possessed the greatest of them all, a titanic intellect truly blessed by the Great Horned Rat! And now, this mind and the Horned Rat's grace had given him the inspiration he needed. The airship was placed in a makeshift hangar close to the portal, not the best base but a good improvisation. He grinned as he watched his minions scurry over the massive hull. He had shot more than a dozen of them, but small sacrifices like that were a necessity to make sure that these pathetic fools knew not to mess with his divine genius. He would have shot even more of them to achieve that goal, but these morons were not really worth the quality ammo.

This would be his greatest creation, a weapon to truly annihiliate, destroy and terminate all resistance against the rightful rule of Clan Skyre! Ikit had obviously taken little time to test his plans, but a great mind had little need for safe testing. The burned out engine had been replaced with two large scale warp generators, and rattling guns and warplightning cannons where now covering most of the newly armored hull. Four turrets each carried a special weapon, a hybrid of the two other weapon types able to destroy a fortress in a few short bursts of green fire. Ikit would not rest until the new airship was completely ready for use, and he could make sure his minions did the same! And if any of these treacherouly incompetent imbeciles tried to sabotage the vehicle, oh, Ikit knew what he would do with those...

Forcing the the delicious thoughts of torturing any traitors to their agonizing death back, Ikit returned his focus to the task at paw. More engine power would mean more generators, and more generators meant even more havoc for his enemies, the enemies of all Skavendom! Ikit laughed maniacally as he imagined the destruction his creation would spread. Who cared about material tolerances and such nonsense? This was the time for blood and fire, and most of all, much needed firepower! Any creation of Skavendom would have a small chance to kill a few useless idiotic underlings, that was just a part of life. And Ikit would ensure that it would kill at least as many enemies as it would slaughter slaves...

* * *

"Well, this is the source if the magical disruption, but I have no idea what it is supposed to do." Sindragosa merely spoke out what they all thought. She and Nalice had aided Sartharion in finding this thing, but now they had found it and didn't know what to do. The thing in question was a sketch of a meteor, apparently molten into the saronite wall in an empty area in one of the middle levels of Icecrown. The glyph was obviously magical, even glowing visibly, but they had yet to find out how it had gotten here, what it meant or whether or not they should try to get rid of it. Emphasis on try, because whoever had placed it was powerful and had almost certainly placed some safety measures around it. The glyph was interacting with the defenses of the fortress in some way, but even Sindragosa was unable to tell what exactly it did. Except for making all of them rather nervous.

"Who would be able to place something like this?", Nalice asked, frustrated with staring at a wall with no clue what to do. "The list can't be that long, can it?"

Both Sartharion and Sindragosa stared at her, wondering why they had not come up with the same approach.

"Well, you are right." Sartharion said slowly. "It is rather short, as none of us could hide the purpose of their spells from you"- he through a glance at Sindragosa- "von Carstein or Sintharia would probably be unable to do so too, and they would have no reason to try. That leaves that bastard Vakarthys."

"Which leads to a different problem", Sindragosa said quietly, "what are we going to do about it? Vakarthys is not someone we can just confront about it. All we can do about this is to tell von Carstein and Sintharia."

"If that is all we can do, we do it. But we should be vigilant if Vakarthys takes this badly."

As an ambassador, Nalice was very good at ready people. So she could tell that Sindragosa was even more worried than she showed, and they all showed considerable concern regarding to entire situation. Sindragosa saw the look, and Sartharion did too.

"The possible uses of such a glyph can be devasting in the hands of a skilled user, and Vakarthys might be a lot of things, but I don't think incompetent is one of them. He could perhaps shut down the entire defense matrix of Icecrown if he uses his magic correctly." Sindragosa said these words with a calmness none of them actually felt.

"Then we have to stop this before he can make a move. If we act now, he can't react soon enough. And we can pay more attention to prevent him from placing such marks anywhere else." Nalice knew she was a little too enthusiastic about this whole affair, but inaction might have disastrous consequences.

"We don't really know if Vakarthys did this, and we shouldn't claim to do so. Vakarthys is a danger, even if he his not responsible for this mess. If we accuse him, his reaction might be rather volatile." Sartharion took a deep breath to calm down at least a little. "Let's go to von Carstein. With our potential enemies, I don't want to walk through these corridors alone."

Nalice and Sindragosa exchanged a glance, and in spite of their draconic pride, they agreed wholeheartedly.


	17. Chapter 16

AN: Wow, the story got more than 5k views and far more followers than I expected. Thanks to all readers!

* * *

Someone had tried to interfere with the first glyph. Of course it had not exactly been well hidden, but it being discovered so soon was still less than optimal. This matter had to be looked into. Vakarthys swiftly made his way to the glyph, ignoring the various creatures scurrying out of his way. Whoever had messed with the glyph had been clever enough not to trigger the traps he had placed on it. So it had not been some poor random fool. Not good. A random fool would most likely be already dead, and could be disappeared if not. But someone competent with knowledge about the sign might be able to cause real problems.

Arriving at the site, Vakarthys began a full search for both physical and magical evidence. There were no footprints on the metal floor, and no one had visibly tried to damage the glyph in the physical world. Its magic seemed unaffected too, still doing what is was meant to do and nothing else. So the interference was limited to spying. The least of the possible troubles, but still something to be taken care of. Or was it? Finding the one responsible might very well be an exercise in futility, and there were other things to do. With that in mind, Vakarthys merely placed a few additional nasty spells on the glyph before leaving. The time to relax was over, it was time to get to work.

Every awakening was followed by the same routine, chanting the Invocation of Nehek to mend torn flesh back into its supposed form. It got easier, the magic of the would be assassin slowly fading away, but it remained an ardous, slow process. Being reminded of the incompleteness of his immortality was something very few beings liked, and Vlad belonged to those who thoroughly despised it. But it was also a reminder not to feel invulnerable, and while that fact was not well liked either, keeping it in mind was essential to avoid the fate of all those who were to arrogant to consider the strength of their enemies. But while his wounds were still painful, pain would not stop him from acting.

Getting up without waking Sintharia next to him would usually be rather challenging, as one would expect from trying to fool the senses of a dragon. Choosing the most subtle approach possible, he turned to mist to slip away and get dressed. Once again he could only smile as he saw how cute she looked when she was sleeping, aparently so devoid of the wrath and fierce determination she showed while awake.

Of course, the attempt not to wake her up still failed, soon after, she rose up too.

"Your not going to escape that easily," she said in a playful tone.

"I'm not trying to escape, I was going to get breakfast. And I can't let myself get knocked out for any longer."

"You will stay safe, and I will ensure that you will. So you are not leaving alone unless you are back to full health."

Vlad was trying to come up with some kind of ironic response when someone knocked at the door. A short glance through the eyes of the guards in front of said door showed him Sindragosa, Nalice and Sartharion, all of them looking more than a little concerned. Or rather close to complete panic. And if something scared all of them so badly, they either lacked a lot of confidence in their own abilities or they had encountered something highly dangerous. He didn't know them too well, but this was not a difficult question to answer. Another thought opened the heavy door.

Wasting no time with formalities, Sindragosa as the most magically proficient of the troop immidiately began to explain their findings, and their fears were confirmed when Vlad didn't pretent to be unbothered. But what should they do about it? If Vakarthys was the one responisble, he had to be confronted, but looking forward to that filled every one of them with dread. Patrols were quickly dispatched to keep an eye on the glyph, with no illusions about their ability to stop ist creator, and several groups of necromancers were tasked with constantly monitoring the defensive spells.

"This leaves as no choice. We have to confront Vakarthys about this. If he did this, he has some explaining to do, and if not, he could finally make himself useful by getting rid of it. If we confront him together, we should be able to take him on if necessary." Sintharia didn't like the lack of enthusiasm in the reactions to her words, but they all knew they had to do this sooner or later anyway. And with an army of the Scarlet Crusade on the way, later might be the worse option.

So they made their way to Vakarthys tower, forcing their fear back into the dark corners of their minds. Four wyrms of old age and the Lich King should be able to easily take on pretty much any single being aside from Deathwing and the like. A quick spell opened the door in silence, and Vlad slipped into the tower in mist shape. The others were waiting outside, ready to shift into their true forms at a moment's notice to bring down the entire tower. In complete silence, Vlad hovered up the staircase, listening for any sound made by a creature. Nothing. He closed in on the door of the room Vakarthys was living in, but still, he didn't hear anything, and if Vlad focused properly, he could hear the breathing of a cat from twenty meters away. And Vakarthys had been breathing earlier. Very carefully, he moved slightly further and using his mist form, glanced through the keyhole. The room on the other side was devoid of any creature, and so Vlad slipped in. Aside for a bed someone had recently used, the room and the adjacent ones were empty, both in terms of physical items and magical auras.

"Nothing," he said after swiftly leaving the tower. "Vakarthys isn't in there, neither are any belongings, and he has entered the room earlier this day. There are no secret passages or anything of the sort, which means he left via magic. With no other option, I suggest we prepare for his return for the best of our abilities, and hope said preparations are unnecessary."

Grim nods were the response, but there was little time for anything. The crusaders were still approaching, and they were an nice, juice target to test a new potential use for Naxxramas, a test they all were curious to see. Sartharion would still stay in Icecrown to protect the vaults, but he would watch the spectacle through the eyes of the mindless undead. If one ignored the classic prejudice, basic necromancy was both easy to learn and useful in quite a few mundane situations, not only on a battlefield.

Just an hour later, the entire high command stood on an observation platform of Naxxramas and watched the final steps before the new weapon would be tested through the eyes of various flying undead.

"This plan is insane, but it is the kind of insane that might actually work."

Rimefang merely voiced the opinion of nearly everyone present, summing up the mixture of wild dreams and cautious optimism. The plan was fairly simple: Instead of filling most Naxxramas with troops, the fortress was now filled to the brim with water taken from the ocean, except for the spire housing the mages for the next part of the plan. Once they were above the crusaders, all of this water would be dumbed on them, and the mages of the Scourge would freeze the water as it fell, to bury their enemies under a blanket of heavy snow soaked with necromantic energy. Of course those with magic of their could protect themselves easily, but the rank and file would often lack that luxury. And if the amount of cold magic was increased, solid ice might fall from the sky instead, literally crushing all resistance beneath it. Still, a clever or powerful foe could certain defeat this approach in some way, but suprising an enemy with this was very promising. And this promise would now be put to the test.

Thousands of eyes filled with righteous hatred stared at flying necropolis, yet without a substantial air force, the crusaders could not to anything to stop or attack Naxxramas. Even their best clerics were unable of damaging a fortress in a meaningful way, at least on such short notice. They prayed to the holy light to smite down the wicked, but at least for now, the light could not help them. And for many of them, any help could come far too late. Still looking up to the structure looming more than two hundred meters above their heads, they could see how the huge gates in the belly of the necropolis began to open, and they wonder if the Scourge flyers would now descent upon them. For many, this would be their last thought, for what came from Naxxramas was a lot faster than flying creature and it took the direct path without thoughts of self preservation, or any thoughts to be exact.

Hundreds of tons of water fell from the necropolis and much of that was turned to ice and snow mid-fall. And even the liquid part was most dangerous, for being soaked with water in the freezing temperatures of Northrend could easily be a death sentence. Other were buried in the snow or simply crushed by chunks of ice. More spells were cast inside Naxxramas, to shape the ice into various razor sharp shards. The crusaders tried to defend themselves of course, domes of golden light manifesting to protect the units further back and hundreds of shields were risen to stop the smaller shards of ice. While these measures had some effect, they were unable to stop the destruction raining down on the crusaders, and within moments, bodies littered the landscape and much of the snow had been turned red. Some tried to counterattack up into the sky, but the spells hammering into the necropolis did only superficial damage to its massive structure.

The Scarlet Onslaught had pretty much been a failure from the very beginning, the broken remains of a once powerful organisation wishing to fall in a way that seemed to be meaningful. It had little in the way of supplies, no siege engines and generally no chance of actually achieving its goals. The damage done to Icecrown had given them what appeared to be a fighting chance, but in truth it might have allowed them to take some enemies with them as they died.

Through the eyes of the flying Rimefang, Vlad watched the carnage with a grin on his face. Naxxramas had so much potential, and this was an improvised first attempt to use it. Seeing that the crusaders still had forces left and the water within the necropolis had run out, he decided to finish this in a more classical way.

Words of power came from his lips, sounds a human mouth should not be able to form. The wounds in his chest hurt from his lung moving, but this weakness was to be ignored to do what was to be done. It had taken Vlad decades to completely memorize the one tome of Nagash he had aquired so long ago, and he used this knowledge to the fullest extent of his abilities. Under the snow and on the frozen ground, hundreds of dead bodies began to stir, to rise to tear their former comrades apart. At the same time, Vlad gave a few orders to those around him. The crusaders would be dealt with in the most efficient way possible, and hopefully without casualties on his side.

With the commanding done, he broke the connection to Rimefang and stepped out on the balcony. This was a triumph he wanted to see with his own eyes, to see his enemies dying like the vermin they were. Their fanatism would not help them, and their precious deity wouldn't either.

The sight from the balcony was marvelous, for about half of the entire Frost Brood assumed formation for a strafing run, with a single attack run probably enough to break the spine of the Onslaught. Sintharia stood next to him, and her desire to be out there could be felt with out being voiced.

"Go ahead, have your fun. The secret is already out."

She grinned wildly before jumping of the balcony to transform. The Frostbrood was already descending, and she hurried to follow them.

Vlad watched in awe as the frostwyrms struck, flying with barely a meter between the tips of their wings as they unleashed their breath on those below. The crusaders had formed a shield wall to keep the zombies at bay, and so their tight formation was an easy target. Again a dome of golden light was there to protect them, but it only held a few seconds before shattering partially and leaving hundreds to die. Vlad nodded over to Gothik and began another spell to raise even more of the fallen against their brothers. The other necromancer joined in, and Vlad was suprised by the level of skill he displayed. Gothik was definitively a prodigy, especially for his age.

With the spell done, he focused again on the chaos below. The shield wall had broken in a dozen places, and the golden dome was gone as those you had conjured it needed to defend themselves against zombies far closer. From the ranks further back, arrows and bullets were shot into the sky, but the volleys came too late as their targets were mostly out of range by now, and the few actual hits did little to harm the huge flyers. The last volley just fired left the ranks vulnerable while reloading, and Sintharia used that gap for her own strafing run.

The dark flame exploding from her maw seemed to twist like a living being trying to devour its pray. And devour it did, turning nearly everyone it reached to ash, leaving only those with strong magical protection surounded by their fallen comrades. Another volley was fired into the sky, but all order was gone at the rushed shots missed their mark again. And with so many of their soldiers dead and archers and gunners busy, the remnants of the shield wall could not hold the zombies back any longer. The Scourge's work here was done, the flesh puppets would finish this. Vlad gave the order to retreat, and Naxxramas turned back to Icecrown, flanked by the victorious Frostbrood. On the torn, blood-soaked battlefield they left behind, a single armored figure watched them, eyes filled with a hatred beyond mortal ability. And yet even this being could do nothing for now, another plot failed. This outcome would not be well received, not at all.

* * *

An aireal attack of this scale was obviously not hard to spot, and the downfall of the Scarlet Onslaught had drawn quite a few spectators. None of them would shed a tear for the crusaders, but this was a chance to see the changes within the Scourge in action. And nearly all of the observers were frightened by what they saw: Lethargy and towering arrogance seemed to be gone, replaced by ruthless ingenuity and brutal effiecency. The attack on the crusaders was not the sadistic playong with the prey of the past, no boasting with magically enhanced voices, no rants about their own superiority, just a well planned move with nearly flawless execution. And if there had been any remaining doubts about the black dragons serving the Lich King, these were just as evaporated as the victims of the twilight flame. This would need to be adressed, but how? Icecrown was damaged, but it was still a formidable fortress and taking it down would require forces needed elsewhere. Some of these observers were already considering alternative options. Under the new leadership, the Scourge might not be that much worse than some other factions on Azeroth, and they were certainly powerful allies. Of course, there were many who would never accept the Scourge at their side, but in the end, the pragmatic elements were not unlikely to triumph over their more narrow-minded counterparts. And while it might be difficult to convince the Scourge into joining a faction, there were always those willing to try. This would require them to establish contact first, but the attempted diplomacy from Dalaran could provide plenty of opportunities for measures in that regard.

A decision in Dalaran had been reached, and a messenger was sent to Icecrown. The Lich King would have to present his case in person, and his safety would be guaranteed for the duration of his stay. Of course, no small amount of people wanted him dead, so the security would have to be tight, and their would always be risk and sometimes they had to be taken.

"Well, it seems this Proudmoore has not given up yet," Vlad said after receiving the message.

"Her determination is just as impressive as her naivety. And to this safety is a promise they will never be able to keep." Sintharia eyed the letter with a great deal of skepticism.

"And in spite of this obvious fact, I should still show up there. It's a chance to look into the heads of our current and future enemies, and if things turn violent, their leaders will be in one place. So if we have a claw at their throat, they won't dare to place a dagger in our back."

The look he got made fairly clear how little Sintharia liked the plan, but since they had to keep the war cold for a while, they had very little in the way of other options.

"Urrgh, fine. But if they do anything to you, I'll make sure that nobody in that city survives to the next day."

Vlad grinned. "That spirit is why love you. I hoped for nothing less. The details can be discussed in the war room tomorrow, but I promise you, I have something in mind if they try to betray. Somethimg approprietly drastic."

She kissed him before whispering into his ear. "Tell me more."

The entire high command was assembled, looking at a map of Northrend they didn't need and discussing numbers and plans they already knew. They needed time to prepare and to weaken the enemy in order to improve their chances, but none of them liked the idea of entering the enemy's lair. These opinions were no secret, and the Lich King was swift to react.

"You will stay here. All of you, to be precise. Sintharia and I will need a small entourage, mostly for appearances. You all will remain out of harm's way and ready to strike."

He continued before any questions could be raised. "Anub'arak, get your troops into the clear areas of your old realm and wait for a target. Lana'thel, I need those treaty concepts you were working on by tomorrow. All others, prepare your troops and keep Icecrown safe. And if we are betrayed in Dalaran, there is one more thing I want done." He lowered his voice of dramatic effect. "We will use Naxxramas to get to Dalaran. If we are betrayed, I want for one of you to steer Naxxramad into position a few hundred meters above the city. After that, you cancel the levitation spells and enjoy the show." The idea seemed to be well received.

"Taking Dalaran out should cripple the supply chain of Horde and Alliance definitively, and they will need months to restablish a supply line by ship. So if things get hot, we have to fight the campaign before they manage that. If we do, we win. Otherwise, this will get very long and very, very costly. So ladies and gentleman, let's do this right from the very start."

The somewhat stunned but mostly convinced high command didn't ask many questions, and so the rest of the day was given to various preparations and general nervousness. In the evening, the comparatively small delagation boarded Naxxramas again to begin their mission. Most of the farewells were conducted via telepathy, but a few were more personal. Vlad found Sintharia and Sindragosa hugging each other like the old friends they were particularly heartwarming. As they watched the cold night above the saronite towers, Sintharia managed to suprise Vlad once more.

"Have you noticed the way Nalice and Sartharion look at each other?" Her voice now had taken a conspiratirial tone.

"Actually no. And didn't think you were into gossip. Is it the good stuff or just something vague in the certain future?"

"Oh, usually I don't gossip. I'm just very curious as to how those two approach this. And trust me, both would deny it, but one of them will make a move of some sort within the next weeks or months."

"If you say so." Unsure what to comment on the potential crush between to people he barely knew, he simply took the chance to kiss her again. Apparently, it was appreciated.

* * *

Those wating in Dalaran had obviously a lot of work to do and while many hated the job currently, they knew that if they screwed up, things would get even worse than they were now. Security was a main priority, and so the entire city watch was mobilized and reinforced by both elements of the 7th Legion and the Kor'kron. Massive protest and even riots were expected and would have to be taken care of without escallating the situation even further, and that would innevitably fail, more reinforcements had to be on the streets within the shortest possible amount of time. The best way to keep the city fron tearing itself apart would be to move the Lich King and his entourage swiftly, to get them into the Violet Citadel before the mob would reach the full height of rage. And they would have to keep the Lich King and his entourage under control as well, since they were probably the kind of people who would react to violence with more violence. Undead monsters slaughtering their way through the streets would stop any chance of a truce happening, no matter who had started the fight.

The entrance the Lich King made was no help either. Instead of arriving in some discret way simply making things quick, he used Naxxramas for the short flight from Icecrown, and the terrifying shadow of the necropolis looming over the city had the expected effect on the population. Fear and anger drove hundreds into the streets, and as with any large crowd, pickpockets, the curious and various others not directly linked to the cause of this mess followed soon after, hoping for profit or at least for something interesting to happen. The watch blocked the street from the landing pad closest to Naxxramas to the citadel, but otherwise left the crowd alone. The transformation into an angry mob might happen soon enough, and all available strength would be needed to keep a resemblance of public order in at least some parts of the city. In others, doing so would be utterly impossible.

The first thing everyone noticed when the Scourge delegation landed was how small the delegation was. The Lich King was accompanied only by a woman in black, four Val'kyr and four shades, as well as the two frostwyrms that served as the mounts for the Lich King and the woman. Most of those watching had expected a spectacle and had waited for the Scourge to land a whole regiment of their worst monsters, to show force, and in some minds, for the inevitable betrayal. No one would be able to take Dalaran with eleven fighters, not even from the inside. This left many to wonder how many undead were waiting in the hovering necropolis, but the spectators had no way of checking.

 _So this is how they react to the subject of their hatred and their nightmares marching through their home. The watch seems to know what they are doing. Or are the riots just somewhere else?_ Seeing this reaction was rather informative, for the usual reaction to Sintharia would either be awe or terror. And her mortal form got mostly appreciative looks. Now, people stared at her with a mixture of fear and disgust, probably thinking her to be a traitor to her species or something like that. She glared back with the same intensity and without any fear, just with confidence and contempt. Vlad next to her seemed to simply ignore the crowd, but Sintharia picked one person out after the other, locking eyes with each one until they retreated. This whole idea was a farce to win time, and she would let herself be judged by a bunch of morons who thought staring was the best way to approach a being they feared and hated. _Run, hide or attack, all of those options can make sense. But staring like an idiot won't achieve anything no matter how hard they try to make us shiver in fear. Do they know how foolish they are? Would they care?_

* * *

While keeping a detached, regal posture for the spectators, Vlad smiled internally as he saw how Sintharia glared into the crowd. Any noble in his home world would have been told from young age not to get into a staring match with the peasantry, but Sintharia just did and she won it. It was charming in way, seeing her simply do what anyone in their position would like to, not caring much about impressions. The crowd was clearly suprised by this approach, and Vlad found it to be very amusing how those Sintharia targeted would try to duck behind their comrades to avoid her burning gaze. With her at his side, this felt nowhere near as dangerous. Of course her temper might create an own kind of trouble, but he trusted her self control, and there were more likely ways for this whole visit to go down the drain.

They moved swiftly, but not in the kind of hurry that would indicate fear or worry. That would be a satisfaction they would not grant the mob so easily. A squad of knights was positioned in front of them and another squad covered their back, but these knights were a far greater source of concern for Vlad and his group. Trained fighters with good equipment would actually pose a threat, especially on the charge with lances. A mob of untrained civilians with crude weapons at best and their bare hands at worst was something a mage could rather easily deal with, and Vlad wondered how said mob would even try to take down a frostwyrm. Rimefang and Chillmaw were not the largest of their kind, by a large margin, but they were still monsters if they wanted to. Their claws would cut down half a dozen foes with each swing, and their breath might kill a hundred with a single short blast. The effect Sintharia would have if she unleashed her true self could be considered to be downright unfair. The shades were incorporeal and therefore immune to nonmagical weapons, and the Val'kyr would simply keep the enemy at bay with their spells before rising into the sky.

Fortunately, no one tried to get a first hand demonstration of what the elite of the Scourge was capable of. Countless insults were hurled at them, and Vlad would have loved to show why being so disrespectful towards him was a bad idea, he managed to swallow both his pride and his anger. No matter how carthartic it would be, firing a wind of death spell through the crowd was certain to have drastic consequences. It was still tempting, and took a considerable amount of willpower to resist the urge. A part of him almost hoped for diplomacy to fail, so that he could see Naxxramas crashing into Dalaran. _Patience_ , he told himself, _there will be a time for that later. Just stay calm for now, and you can enjoy all that in the future_.

* * *

Many of the fearful who didn't turn fear into rage instead sought refuge in the church of the Holy Light, and the senior followers of their religion did everything they could to calm the people down. Their efforts were greatly appreciated, but far from enough.

Tyrion Fordring was gravely concerned about this whole affair, but he didn't show it. He had to project confidence if he didn't want to cause even more panic. As of now, his presence was helping to keep the people for freaking out completely, but this meant he was not in the citadel, which in turn meant he could not stop the Lich King if things got bloody. Of course the citadel was heavily guarded, but it still made him feel uncomfortable. He had just finished another sermon when one of the priests approached him.

"Forgive the interruption, sir, but there is someone asking to talk to you in private."

Tyrion would prefer stay visible for the crowd, but the priest spoke with an sense of urgency he could not ignore. So he followed the priest into one of the smaller chambers. The person waiting for him appeared to be completely unremarkable, and stayed silent until the priest had left the room. Then, the illusion around the visitor faded away.

The being revealed was about nine foot tall and clad in a golden plate armor. Six bright wing were spread, and the figure radiated a soothing golden light. It spoke with a voice that could only be described as angelic.

"Forgive my deception, Lord Fordring, not being seen to soon is sometimes a necessity. But fear less for the future, for your people are loyal worshipers of the Light and will not be abandoned in times of darkness."


	18. Chapter 17

AN: drfail: Thanks for the idea with Queek, I found a place where he might fit in well.

* * *

The suites in the Violet Citadel were as luxurious as expected, but nothing could make the Scourge feel welcome in Dalaran. Not that it mattered much or the people of Dalaran wanted them to feel to well were. The first council meeting was scheduled for the next morning, and so the delegation was in theory free for the evening. Practically going outside meant asking for a bloodbath to happen and so they remained inside.

"Do you think there is any chance of this going the way it is officially supposed to go?" Vlad said while throwing a treat to Mr Bigglesworth. The cat gave a happy meow, but Vlad wasn't sure if it was intended to answer his question.

"Not really. I just wonder how long the list of those wishing to kill us truly is, and who will have the guts for the first try. It could make this visit at least a little interesting." Sintharia absently conjured a flame in her hand. Then her eyes snapped into focus again.

"How exactly do you bring someone back to life? Not in the meat puppet sense, but with the full personality and everything else."

"Well, it depends on a variety of factors. How long the person in question was dead, cause of death, how powerful the person was in life, species, whether or not the person was undead or was ressurected before... the list goes on for a while. And it depends on the one casting the spells involved. To bring a being similar to us back, it would most likely require lots of resources, extensive rituals, additional help in casting and would probably be highly dangerous. Regular people would be easier, and to bring back someone more powerful than yourself is usually either impossible or suicide."

There was no need to ask for the reason behind the question. Sintharia wanted to bring her family back, and Vlad would provide all the help he could. The kind of ritual required would have to wait for a period of calm or victory, but time should not be an issue for the immortal.

"No need to be vague. If you have anything that belonged to your children, that would be good first step towards a working ritual. Usually, a body part is the best ritual focus for such works."

"I know where we can find those in Stormwind and Orgrimmar. The agents of the Scourge should be able to get a few scales without being noticed."

Any further planning was interrupted as one of the shades phased through the closed door. "Apologies sir, but Lady Windrunner has arrived and insists on meeting you."

"Let her in," Vlad said while hiding his suprise and the shivers running down his spine. Windrunner was one of the beings he had met personally who were able to frighten him. Not in the way some of the others could, as he was confident in his ability to survive a fight against her, but in the sheer pure hatred and determination she had shown. If she came to fight, he had to make absolutely sure she didn't survive and was unable to be brought back.

Sintharia showed no fear of her own, and her presense was able to calm Vlad down somewhat. Perhaps she was just very good at keeping her fears hidden, but most likely she just thought about how she would rip Windrunner to shreds with the Banshee Queen tried anything.

Two Val'kyr opened the door and Windrunner stepped in, clad in an aura of unhidden contempt for all those present. The greeting she offered had mostly poison in her voice, and it was clear that there was no point in wasting time with formalities and small talk.

"What do you want here?" Vlad shifted slightly in his chair and his hand moved towards Frostmourne.

"I don't want anything were. This is a matter of duty, and I am to tell only you about it."

Vlad narrowed his eyes at this before throwing a glance over to Sintharia. "May we have the room for a while?"

"Sure", Sintharia growled through gritted teeth and left.

"I know she is waiting on the other side of the door and hears every word in this room."

"Of course. But I would tell her everything anyway, and we have only four eyes present now. So speak so you can leave soon."

Windrunner didn't look convinced, but her desire to get this whole mess over with left her no other choice.

"There are more than just a few members of the Horde who are willing to look past your treason at Wrathgate. It is not honourable, but the next war with the Alliance will come and honor won't help winning it. So they are offering you the chance to join us."

"Interesting. Very Interesting. But tell me, with the Horde really wants a pact, why do they sent someone to negotiate who so clearly despises me? This choice is so odd that I wonder if this might just be a scheme I have yet to understand."

A sigh. "The others were if the opinion that we were alike in some way, and so I would be the best suited. Probably they are just so bothered about notions of honor or their own dislike towards you that they used any excuse to avoid this duty."

"So we are alike?" Vlad chuckled. "So true and yet so wrong. If that was their argument, they gravely misjudged the priorities in diplomacy."

"Why do I get the feeling that you are more curious about my current position than the reason I'm here?"

"Because I don't understand you, and that is very rare for me. In certain ways, we are alike. But I don't understand why you seem to hate me with such a passion. Arthas, well there are no questions to be asked. But why me? We only met once before, and I don't think your first meeting would cause such an emotional reaction. Your hatred for being bound to the will of someone else is also understable. But you have your free will, and yet you seem unable to enjoy anything except for vengeance."

"Enjoy? What joy is there in this curse?" Windrunner took an aggressive step forward, and Vlad knew when he had hit a nerve.

"What did you enjoy in life? The best food, wine, good company? Or are you more into acadamic pursuits? Gambling? Love? You don't need to give up what you like to do just because your heart is not beating."

This seemed to make Windrunner even more angry, and Vlad took great care to note everything she did. Enraged people often told more than they would usually want to tell. While this tactic was not without risk, it was quite often effective.

"You think I didn' try? There is nothing to be gained from this. Food tastes like ash, wine like piss and any touch like worms." If looks could kill, Vlad would probably have been turned to dust.

But Vlad was now genuinely curious. "How so? Your senses sight and hearing seem to work fine. Have you ever had an expert look into the matter, a necromancer perhaps?"

"Of course not! All higher ranking necromancers were and are part of the Scourge!"

"Well, since you were turned to torture you, have you ever considered that your physical form was not designed to be pleasent to have? And if so, your problem should not be to difficult to fix. If you want, I could look into the matter."

Windrunner gave Vlad a look as if he had just confirmed that he was utterly insane. "Why would I allow that?"

Vlad smiled a sad smile. "You have nothing to lose and a lot to win, and as you just said, all the other necromancers serve me and none of them are in the city. If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't offer it."

It took Windrunner a solid minute to think about the offer, but the seeds of doubt and hope had been planted and their growth was now unstoppable. Vlad kept a neutral expression, but grinned internally.

"Do it."

The magic called forth caused a very strange feeling as it touched her body, and von Carstein's eyes glowed as he began the examination. Being stared at like this was not exactly pleasent either, but if von Carstein spoke the truth, the humiliation was worth it.

Another few minutes later, the magic vanished and von Carstein sighed. "Your body can rightfully considered a masterwork of the art of necromancy, and you should be fully able to feel everything you felt in life. There is to be another cause for your problems."

Sylvanas was still unwilling to trust von Carstein, but she would not ignore the possibility that he spoke the truth.

"What other causes would be possible?"

"The most likely causes would either be mental trauma or some sort of damage to your soul..."

The last sentence felt like a punch to the guts, especially his her soul was just about two meters away.

"The soul might be the problem here. Or rather, over there." She gestured towards Frostmourne.

Now she could see his eyes widen. "You escaped Arthas with your soul still imprisoned in his blade. I admire your skill. And yes, that might be the problem here."

* * *

The priest left the church after dawn, walking through the now darkened streets of Dalaran. And even if it had been noon, he would not have seen the one shadowing him. So he walked his way without worry, oblivious to the doom looming above his head or rather lurking in the shadows behind him.

The shadow in question took time to follow the target. Making a move on the street might attract undue attention, since there were nearly always witness in a city and those should avoided as of now. The time for lurking in the shadows might end very soon, but for now it was a necessity.

The priest had seen something the shadow was interested in, and this would mean his death. Once again, someone would fall victim to the dangers of having open eyes and ears. If the shadow had known compassion for humans, now would be the time to feel it, but it didn't and so the priest's fate was sealed.

The priest obviously felt something of the dark being in his proximity, but he could not pinpoint it and so only got a vague feeling of dread. With the Lich King in the city and Naxxramas looming over the streets, such feelings would not be unusual, and even before that, the amount of cursed magic in Northrend could often cause such feelings on its own, especially among the worshipers of the Light.

The priest reached his home after a short walk, and he unlocked door while the shadow came closer, invisble and shrouded from all senses by a cloud of dark magic. Again the priest felt something, but didn't react to what he thought to be a natural reaction to the cursed suroundings of this continent. The shadow followed him inside and as the door fell shut, a spell was silently cast to keep it shut and all sounds inside. The shadow wanted no interruptions in the investigation.

A swift motion drove a short blade into the priest's shoulder and his scream was unheard outside. The shroud of magic was discarded was it was no longer needed, and the desperate wave of light the priest fired wrecked parts of the furniture, but the attacker was unfazed. This didn't even deserve to be called a fight. A hand twisted the grip of the dagger, and the priest dropped to his knees, paralyzed by the pain. He vaguely saw armored boots and a silver cloak, but that was it.

"You have been in the presense of a rather unusual creature this day." The voice could only be correctly described as obviously psychopathic. "Well, to such creatures to be exact, but I know all there is to be known about me. However, you know more about the other one then I do, and that needs to be corrected." The blade was ripped out, and Vakarthys knelt down next to his victim. "If you just spit it out, this doesn't need to hurt more than it already does..."

* * *

One of the many portals in Dalaran was activated in this night, and while many had been used during the day when many of the more carefully citizens had left the city for a few days while the Lich King was here. This one worked in the opposite direction, and the group who left it was not actually scared by the Lich King. On the contrary, the Lich King was their chance to escape the various threats they would otherwise have to face, and those threats would probably prove fatal without help. But first they had to find out where the Lich King was, and just asking would be a spectacularly bad idea. Common sense told them that such a high guest would be in the citadel, and once they were inside, finding the Lich King should be relatively easy. But world or rather most of its inhabitants were unwilling to wait for others, and so they made their own move. A massive explosion shook Northrend, and everyone on the continent could feel it. Those a little closer to Ulduar could even see the cloud of greenish-yellow fire rising into the nightly sky.

On the streets of Dalaran, the newcomers and the few citizens on the streets dove into cover and reached for their weapons, some in reflex, some because they feared that the Scourge had put their treacherous plans into motion.

In Icecrown, the Scourge high command mobilized their forces in all haste. From the highest parts of the central spire, they watched the explosion with fear and no small amount of envy at the power displayed over there. Whatever it meant exactly, the general meaning would be something troublesome.

In a small, blood stained flat, Vakarthys felt that something had just broken free, something that might be a serious threat to his plans. The situation seemed to get worse by the day, and so he had to take a more active role.

In the Wyrmrest Temple, many wondered how this disaster was connected to the various other events Azeroth had suffered in such a short time, and everyone there wondered how to stop the abdominations crawling out of Ulduar and the monster commanding them.

In the violet citadel, Sintharia and the Scourge guards stormed into the suite, while Vlad and Windrunner stared out of the window.

"Lady Windrunner, I think we might want to find out a few things about that before negotiating our alliance. Whatever it is, it's evidently no pushover."

"Most obviously not. I got a feeling that the council meeting will begin sooner than scheduled. I should leave before anyone spots us together." She did, and soon after her feeling was proven correct when a messenger stumbled into the room and narrowly avoided being skewered by the Val'kyr and set aflame by Sintharia.

The council chamber was in a state of controlled panic, with the leaders providing the control and guards and staff providing the panic. The massive table was covered in maps, and all around it the various leaders seemed busy yelling at each other. Horde and Alliance stood united against the other, but everyone could see that they were not as united as they wanted to appear. Vlad threw a glance at Windrunner and winked. But the arrival of the Lich King did not stay unnoticed, and it was not the pleasent kind of attention. He felt how Sintharia next to him got ready for battle, and hoped she would be able to stay calm enough.

"We can't waste time with petty strife now. Yogg-Saron is a foe we have to face together. If we don't, we will all be dead." As always, Warchief Thrall was a voice of reason in a sea of chaos, and Vlad was still impressed by him.

"What is that treacherous scumbag doing here?" The thunderous voice cut through the general commotion and cleared a way for its owner, a massive orc with brown skin and bare chest. Vlad would almost have laught at this ludicrously impractical and silly showcasing of muscles and toughness, but the orc was angry enough without teasing.

The orc stomped towards them, eyes flaring with rage, the huge hands closed to fists as large as a human head. The Warchief on the other side of the table now seemed gravely concerned and rushed to the scene, but was to late.

Since he could now ally with Windrunner regardless of the council, Vlad was deeply unwilling to let anyone insult him, with little regard for the intentity of the offender. He felt how every magic user in the room reached out to his abilities, and the effects of such abilities being unleashed in a crowded room would be rather spectacular, if unpleasent for anyone present.

"And who are you to hurl insults in such a time of crisis? Your priorities seem to be a little unreasonable."

"Smart talking won't save your skin here," the orc said and came closer. Sintharia moved forward to intercept him, magic gathering around her, but Vlad held her back. If there was an escalation, it would not be his or her fault.

"For your treason against the Horde and all living beings, I, Garrosh Hellscream, challenge you a Mak'gora."

The room went quiet for a moment except for at least two facepalms and a few muttered curses.

The Warchief arrived and took a deep breath. "We discuss this somewhere else," he growled through clenched teeth in a tone that allowed no arguing.

Somewhere else turned out to be the suite of the Warchief, who after dropping his commanding posture seemed quite worried and even a little sorry about this whole affair. Garrosh on the other hand appeared to be delighted, and Vlad knew that if the general was this smug for much longer, Sintharia would probably lose control and he really wanted to be somewhere else when that happened. It would likely be an inspiring sight, but Vlad didn't like fire that much, even the twisted beauty of the twilight flame.

"In the name of the spirits, what were you thinking Garrosh? How am I supposed to get us out of this mess? Challenging the Lich King to a Mak'gorah is bad enough, but in public?"

"Forgive me, I don't know your language and customs", Vlad interjected, "what is a Mak'gora?

"A holy duell, and in its classical form, a duell to the death."

"What are the rules?"

The Warchief looked perplexed for a moment before explaining the usual rules. Garrosh promptly followed with the conditions he wanted.

"Well, then the solution is simple. I decline the challenge, and we all go back to fighting Yogg-Saron."

Both Garrosh and the Warchief stared at Vlad as if he had just announced his intention of snuffing out the sun.

"Decline? A Mak'gora is holy, you can't just decline such a challenge. Your honor will never recover from it." Garrosh sounded as if Vlad's words were blasphemy, but maybe they were.

"I don't care much for honor, and accepting would be foolish for me." Seeing the questioning looks he got, Vlad elorated further. "I don't need to fight this duell, and the rules clearly put me at a disadvantage. I mean no offense, but I don't fight in my underwear unless I have no other choice and fighting without magic would be even worse." He gestured towards his plate armor. "If you want a fight with armor and magic at my disposal, you'll get your duell."

"What kind of coward are you? A proper warrior fights if his honor is challenged." Garrosh seemed to hope that further insults would cause Vlad to snap, but he would not let the orc win so easily.

"And a wise warrior doesn't fight with an arm tied behind his back, and more importantly, knows when to fight. Killing those who want to fight a monster with you is either a death wish, foolishness or towering arrogance. Some beings might have a chance in fighting Yogg-Saron alone, but I doubt any of us fit this describtion."

Garrosh appeared to get angrier with every passing second, but that didn't change the truth in the statement. But wisdom was worthless if used as an excuse for cowardice.

"If you foolishly insist on a duell in spite of all the idiocy that was pointed out in regard to your cause of action, there might be another way." Sintharia spoke quietly, but her voice got even into Garrosh's thick skull. "If Vlad doesn't want to fight, I would do so in his stead."

Both Garrosh and the Warchief gave her a look of disbelief, wondering if she was even more insane than the Lich King. Her human form was relatively frail and her alter ego Lady Winters had never shown any skills outside of magic. With magic forbidden by the rules of the duell, both orcs probably imagined a rather one sided fight.

Vlad knew how one sided the fight would be. No magic meant that the spell to change Sintharia into a mortal form would have to be lifted, and no matter how good Garrosh Hellscream thought he was, a single warrior with an axe would not stand a chance against a great wyrm, even without magic being involved. But while it was known that black dragons were allied with the Scourge, Vlad would prefer for their exact positions to remain hidden as long as possible.

"Could we perhaps postpone the duell until the current crisis is solved?" Vlad locked eyes with Garrosh and made no effort to hide his contempt for this fool. "Either we both survive and can kill each other later, or one of us dies and the problem solved."

"This seems to be a wise choice to me," the Warchief said calmly, but with a hint of steel in his voice. "A compromise we all can agree on." His eyes seemed to pierce Garrosh while Sintharia nodded and Vlad shrugged. Finally, the other orc agreed.

"Don't even think about fleeing after we dealt with Ulduar," he growled as he left the room.

"Is this really the best choice? I think declining might be the better option here, since nobody gets killed." Vlad wouldn't mind seeing Garrosh die or ensuring that personally, but this kind of arrogant, proud fool often had a certain popularity, and so his death might impede the plans Windrunner had presented. And those plans were not to be dismissed easily.

"The Mak'gora is indeed holy. Many would see declining it in a very unfavourable light."

* * *

Ikit was furious. His great plan for Skavendom was under attack by treacherous scum, and he could not assure their demise. The council had learned of the portal, and now they had send their own minions to claim glory and riches for themselves. And in some fit of madness, they had not send one of their usual bootlickers, but Queek Headtaker in person. For all of the infighting in Skaven society, they could all agree on two things: That everyone except them was a treacherous, moronic worm, and that Queek Headtaker was complete nutcase. And this maniac was now standing in his workshop.

Both scanned each other with soulless red eyes, and they both knew how they planned to take each other down. Ikit opened and closed his mechanically claw, and Queek tightened his grip around Dwarfslayer. Ikit moved his good paw to his pistol while mentally preparing to unleash warp lightning. The fight would have to be ended before Queek could close the distance. The warlord was insane, but deadly in melee, there was no denying either of those two facts.

"Warlord Headtaker, I am honored to be in your presence. What does the council command?" No one would believe the false niceties he spoke, but they were considered protocol.

"The council demands for my humble person to lead further attacks against the beard-things." The triumph and bloodlust in his voice were unmistakeable.

With all the willpower only the greatest of all mages could muster, Ikit waited until Queek had left before letting the stream of curses from his mind flow. As long as Queek was backed by the council, he would have to support this blood crazed lunatic in his new offensive, which would either decimate the troops of Clan Skyre or win glory and wealth for Queek, or both in the worst case. Project Stormsky would need to be ready much faster...

* * *

The explosion in Ulduar was slowly fading away, the debris falling back to the ground, but there was no time to watch it. Sindragosa, Nalice and Sartharion stood in front of the glyph in the wall, more worried than before. A thorough search had revealed three others of the same kind, and now was the time for an equally thorough investigation of the magical sign. It was a dangerous work as the sign was covered in magical traps, but such traps were not suited to protect something from those who knew what to look for.

Still, they had to work slowly and with great care to unravel the tangled mess of spells. But the efforts were brought results in the end. The glyph was meant to draw power from death and bloodshed, and then store the power for later use. Knowing this was valueable, but they had still no way of removing the glyphs. Another spell would make sure that all the stored energy would be released at once, and this would probably take the form of another massive explosion, and none of them wanted to present von Carstein with the smoldering ruin of his fortress.

But a spell to draw power from death and bloodshed carved into the walls of Icecrown made the future look rather grim. After all, placing such a spell would only make sense if some major bloodshed would happen were in the near future.

There was nothing more they could do for now on this front. Anub'arak and Rivendare were preparing forces for an attack on Ulduar while Lana'thel and Keleseth did the same for the defenses.

But world shaking explosions where not only noticed by those immidiately effected. Others noticed it too and could guess what it would mean, and so they took their own steps to gain from it what they could. The general chaos in current Azeroth provided an opportunity many had waited for, and they would not back down from such a chance.

* * *

The moment the cultist entered was the moment the cultist died. Valiona recognized what he was and struck without thinking, turning the frail mortal body into bloody smear. She didn't know it yet, but her outburst made sure a small amount of magic was gathered in a magical glyph several nearly a hundred meters above. But the Twilight Hammer knew that their agents tended to suffer sudden deaths when their masters were in a bad mood, and so important messages to those masters were always delivered by a team of low ranking agents. The surviving one step in and fell to his knees, hoping that such a show would save his life.

All her instincts told Valiona to pulverize this cultist as well, but her rational mind stayed her claw. The cult might not know about her defection as of yet, so why tell them?

"What makes your disturb my thoughts, insolent scum?" Valiona tried her best to speak with the arrogance and contempt the cultist would expect from her superiors.

"The master calls for all his subjects to be ready. The time to spread fire and death among the lesser beings, to purge all you can reach. The master says that you would now when to strike."

"Of course I know that you pile of ogre excrements! Now leave before you die like your comrade!"

The cultist turned to leave and as she did, Valiona incinerated her. Loose ends had to be avoided, and she had to tell the others. The Twilight Hammer had no shortage of minions, and they wouldn't miss these two. And this turn opened the possibility to tell the next cultist that those two had never arrived.

The message itself was something Valiona was scared of. Deathwing was a fan of drastic over the top displays of power, and she would bet that the signal for his subjects to strike would be such a display, just even worse than usual.

And it was to happen soon. The upbringing within the twilight flight had no contained a proper military education as the belief in their supremacy over all over beings had made them dismiss such practical things. But she didn't need one to figure out that taking on Yogg-Saron and Deathwing at the same time would not be a good idea. And since the old gods were the ones behind Deathwing, they would have to deal with Yogg-Saron fast before Deathwing might be able to aid his master.

The others listened to her with growing concern, glad about the warning but also afraid, even though that was to be expected. Adding Deathwing to a list of problems already containing the Alliance, the Horde and Yogg-Saron just made everyone feel miserable. Radical action would need to be taken to shorten that list, and with diplomacy unlikely to work, a more brutal approach might yield the desired result. No one they knew would be able to fight Deathwing alone, but they were not alone. If Deathwing attacked, they would have to find a way to drain his strength before ganging up on him. Not exactly honorable, but they cared not.

* * *

The priest had not known much, but that was to be expected and Vakarthys now knew more than before. Still, there was the question which problem to tackle first. For now, the threat from the northeast seemed to be the more urgent. Which was exactly what the angels would want anyone to believe. So he had to stay vigilant, no matter how strongly he wished to jump into the fray. The plan was not be endangered any further.


	19. Chapter 18

AN: This one is a little early, the next one might be ready this week, but no promises.

* * *

It had taken two further days to move the combined armies into the Storm Peaks, two days full of barely tolerating those you just wanted to end. Everyone involved felt like that, and they all knew about it. And yet they worked together, with much grumbling and cursing yet knowing about the fate they all would suffer if they failed.

The parts of Ulduar above the surface were now largely blasted ruins, and it was eerily silent all around. No sign of the faceless ones or other monsters, but this would fool nobody. The actual former city looked a lot better than it should after the explosion, another sign that there was a lot wrong with it.

A camp was established in the outer ruins, and envy flared up wherever on faction would a particularly good spot. The Scourge avoided that fate by having their forces remain in Naxxramas, and the others looked up with both more envy and an equal measure of disgust. With little time before nightfall, defensive positions and artillery were set up and manned, dozens of cannons aimed in all directions.

Those positions were not needed in the first night. In spite of the dark aura emitted by the very stone, no creature seemed to live here. If the enemy wouldn't show, they would have to take the fight inside.

"If you don't mind, I will lead the vanguard," Vlad said as soon as the he reached the command tent. A few eyebrows rose, but no one else really wanted to lead the charge since Garrosh had not arrived yet. However, they would need to place some of their own troops under Vlad's command, and the vanguard was supposed to be an elite force. Placing some of their best under the command of the Scourge was not something anyone really looked forward to, and yet they had no other choice if the fragile truce was to be maintained. And with infighting broke out now, they all would suffer. No one wanted to be the first to break the truce, but everyone wanted to be ready in case someone did.

"Sindragosa, you are in command while Sintharia and I lead our troops inside. The Frostbrood his our best option for swift reinforcements, so stay ready. I see you don't like this, but I need someone with your abilities here. I don't want these cannons in my back without an option to shut them down."

Sindragosa really didn't like staying behind, but Vlad seemed determined. So she simply nodded and went to inform the others, already mentally preparing to lead the charge once something failed horribly. And in an operation this big, something would.

* * *

Vlad in turn went to inspect the troops of the vanguard. Each of the three factions would send two companies of their best into the lair of the beast. The Alliance troops were led by Brann Bronzebeard and mostly consisted of those dwarves who volunteered to follow him everywhere, all heavily armored and most of them carrying guns. The few members of the other races were healers and specialists for the tasks heavy infantry was not well suited for. Vlad didn't know Bronzebeard, but he knew the strengths and weaknesses of dwarven infantry. Supported by healing magic, it was nearly impossible to match their skills at holding a line.

The Horde troops were let by Saurfang, and while Vlad had seen Saurfang fight and had no doubts about his skill, he was worried about the orc holding grudges after Wrathgate. His troops were a strange mix, both living and undead, and the animosity the latter felt for Vlad was unmistakeable. And hopefully irrelevant due to their discipline. The Horde was quite impressive for combining the strength and ferocity of orcs and minotaurs with the tactics and discipline of a proper army, again supported by various other specialists.

And then there were his own troops, death knights and necromancers mostly with a few shades, Val'kyr Darkfallen in between. Rivendare and Keleseth had picked the troops well, and Vlad would lead them personally. The vanguard would probably have to retreat relatively soon given the enemy they faced, but they would put up a good fight first.

But before any of that happened, they had to get in there without killing each other first. Vlad stepped in front of the assembled force, ignoring the glares directed at him. Sintharia stood by him, and his confidence was bolstered greatly by knowing that anyone who tried betrayal would be turned to ash before achieving anything.

"Listen up", Vlad began in his public speaking voice, projecting much more motivation and confidence than he actually felt. "I know you don't like me and you don't like each other either. It is understandable and I would guess the feeling is mutual. Still, if we don't do this together, we will all die and let this tentacle freakshow win. If we can't like each other, let us just hate our enemies more. Think about it: Anyone who got your leaders not only to cooperate, but to ally with me, has really deserved whats coming. So fight together, die together, so that our survivors can go back to killing each other."

It was not his best speech, far less detailed than he would want it to be and it would fall on many deaf ears, but it seemed to do the job for now. Turning around, Vlad drew Frostmourne and began to march through the ruined gates of Ulduar, Sintharia at his side and the death knights taking formation around him. Those who needed lights ignited them, both magical and mundane. The sounds of hundreds of armored boots could be heard for a long distance in the underground, and so there would only be an element of suprise if the enemy waited in ambush. It mattered little. This vanguard was not meant to be very subtle, it was meant to stir up the enemy and send them up to the surface, where artillery and the bottleneck of the gate would allow for them to be slaughtered with relative ease. A risk, but one worth taking.

Many had expected to be jumped at by monsters as soon as they walked through the gates, but the first of the great halls was empty save for some debris. And what a hall it was, its size making many Karaks look rather small in comparison. No need to say that everyone had a bad feeling about this whole affair, and everyone knew they were right.

The vanguard continued its way into the next hall, silent except for their heavy steps, but now much slower than before. The force consided entirely of veterans, and their instincts told them that the bloodbath would begin very soon. The tension in the air would have sent any animal running, and it was made worse by an unnatural stench filling the air. It was not poisonous, but it did its part in taking a toll on the attacker's nerve. Then, they heard another kind of steps, slower and far heavier than their own, and they knew business had begun.

Officers gave their orders and the shield wall was swiftly formed, guns and spells aiming into the darkness. Torches were thrown to increase the vision range for those who needed light. The steps became louder and louder, and then the monsters they all had feared began to flood the other side of the hall, their numbers seemingly endless.

"Retreat!" Vlad had no illusions about fighting them in an open battle. "Form up on the other side of the entrace!" With a suitable bottleneck, the enemy would be unable to use their number properly. Seeing the first monster begin their charge, he turned to Sintharia.

"Can you get me the time to deploy the troops on the other side?"

She was completely calm save for the glow of hatred in her eyes, and if he hadn't loved her, Vlad would have considered her own of the most fearsome beings he had ever met.

"I will. Make sure those fools are ready."

Vlad really didn't want to be in the skin of the faceless ones as he heard her answer. He ran through the massive door, wondering how Yogg-Saron could have so many monster in the upper levels. Would they not starve? And how had they survived the explosion? It was relatively easy to create a pocked of safety around yourself when you cast a spell, but the upper layers of Ulduar had suffered quite a bit under the explosion, and if the blackened walls and half-molten pillars in the last hall were any indication, nothing in here made out of flesh should have survived.

A wall of flame errupted from the ground behind him, and the shield wall on the other side of the doors was now ready. Sintharia followed him a few moments later before they both turned to face the foe again. The set of heavy doors connecting the two halls was about fourty feet wide, massively oversized for most buildings but a lot better than any open hall. Still, they could use some help for a fighting retreat, so Vlad's mind reached out to Rimefang. Yet at this very moment, the boom of a large amount of explosives and a deep rumbling went through Ulduar, and then the tunnel they had entered through collapsed. On the side, faceless ones howled in pleasure as they saw their prey trapped, and every member of the vanguard could feel the cold hand of despair closing around their hearts.

"Don't let certain death make you weakl! We all die at some point, and this means our death will not be meaningless. These bastards think they have us trapped. Let's show them why they are trapped in here with us! Make them pay!"

It was a rather hypocritical speech as Vlad was relatively certain about his ring protecting him, and if need be, he could turn to mist and slip through the gaps in the debris. The collapse of the ceiling had also left a few holes open through which the sky could be seen, and this would be the exit Sintharia would take if things went to badly. But Vlad didn't like sacrificing sentient underlings, and so he would stay as long as he could to make sure they died surounded by the corpses of their enemies.

The speech still had some of its intented effect, turning fear and despair into hatred and rage, not the best for a disciplined unit but far better than the alternative. The faceless ones would pay, and later Vlad would find out whoever was responsible and there would be a reckoning.

* * *

Outside of Ulduar, the armies could only watch as the Frostbrood charged into the tunnel. Yet one pair of eyes was not filled with shock or surprise, but the most grim kind of satisfaction. Borgwen was sad about the loss of the Alliance vanguard, but sacrifices had to be made in order to keep the monsters of this world in check. The dishonor in his behaviour hurt his paladin soul as did the treachery he had just committed, but a word given to a rabid animal was worthless anyway. As for the lives lost, they would not by lost in vain. They were the price to rid the world of the Lich King, and few prices would be too high to destroy that monster. Forcing all doubt and guilt out of his mind, Borgwen returned to command the Alliance troops outside. King Varian would arrive soon to do so in person, but until then they were his responsibility.

* * *

"Sartharion? What are you doing here?" Sindragosa asked as the other dragon arrived, breathing heavily from a long flight at breakneck speed.

"Twilight Hammer has made a move, and we couldn't reach the Lich King from Icecrown. Something blocks long range telepathy, so I got here as fast as I could."

"No time to rest, we're going in as backup." Sindragosa jumped out of Naxxramas, Sartharion and the Frostbrood close behind her. They could worry about the consequences later.

Flying in the tunnel behind the ruined gate was the first challenge, at least for Sarthariona and Sindragosa. While the other frostwyrms could fly normally in this oversized piece of architecture, they had to glide with angled wings and land very now and then to jump back into gliding. It was possible since the tunnel went downwards, but it was much slower than hoped and from an outside view, it probably looked very silly. The explosion they had heard around the time of Sartharion's arrival was a reason for concern, and these concerns were proven correct when they found a great hall with a collapsed ceiling, dozens of tons of debris blocking the way. They all thought the same after the initial cursing. After getting this far, they would not be stopped by something as mundane as a bunch of rocks.

* * *

The first monsters charged in after the wall of fire fell, and a hundred guns roared to greet them. It was an impressive sight as the first rank of the enemy went down, unnatural flesh torn by heavy bullets and expert marksmanship. The dwarves were really good both at making weapons and putting them to use, and this was a quality Vlad deeply respected. The faceless ones charged forward still, trampling their dead and wounded in the ground as they advanced. Spells of all kind were unleashed, and more of them died, yet the frenzied survivors cared not for their fate.

Another volley of shots was fired when the monsters were about fifty meters away, its effect even more drastic as the shorter distance meant more accurate shots and more penetration. Dozens were mowed down, and their comrades payed them no mind. More spells were flung and many had devasting effects, and as the foe got nearly within spitting range, Vlad threw his own magic into the mix. A wind of death was a terrifying mixture of creation, binding and destruction, a brutal display of the power necromancy could grant. A cloud of black smoke tore through the enemy mob, arms both physical and ethereal reaching out to rend flesh and mind of all those within reach. With all the control he could muster, Vlad spread out the cloud, engulfing maybe a hundred targets inside and placing many more in reach of the soul rending ethereal claws. Those engulfed were turned to bloody mess of shredded flesh and broken bones while their comrades struck by the ethereal arms simply collapsed, their life force snuffed out like a torch.

On the right flank, Vlad could see a barrage of fireballs hammering into the enemy lines, the flames showing a familiar dark colour. But his focus was elsewhere as the lines collided.

Frostmourne found its first mark, and while the blade cut through flesh and bone like parchment, these enemies seemed not to a

suffer the life drain of the runeblade in the same way mortal foes did. So while the gashes Vlad chopped into their bodies were fatal, they would not instantly die and were still dangerous for a few seconds. The Lich King had little trouble cutting them down, supernatural speed keeping claws, tentacles and pincers away, but many soldiers in the vanguard were far less blessed. And most armor was utterly incapable of protecting its wearer from foes this strong. Magic of all kind and good teamwork within the formation did quite a bit to even the odds, but the end result was both obvious and inevitable. And yet there were possibilities to delay it and make victory far more costly. Vlad spoke a few words while cleaving through the next arm reaching for him, sending a pincer to the floor and spraying yellow blood in all directions. As the incantation finished, the first bodies began to stir. Many were already damaged beyond usefulness, yet bodies were in no short supply and even something as weak and bumpling as a zombie was dangerous in a suprise attack from behind. The next spell was one developed and perfected by Vanhel, increasing the strength and speed of all nearby undead. It was already effective if used on zombies, but using something like this on a formation of death knights was spectacular indeed. Healed by the necromancers behind, they even advanced a bit, runeblades cutting down anything in reach within the blink of an eye.

Vlad withdrew into the formation and took a peak through various undead eyes. The Alliance had also maintained their formation, the first to ranks fighting while the rear ones fired. This was the good thing in fighting oversized enemies, if you aimed high enough, you could shoot into melee without friendly fire. The Horde on the other flank had a shorter front between the wall on their right and an inferno to their left, an inferno that had Sintharia's handwriting all over it. He could not see her, but she could handle herself in a fight.

This train was derailed when another wave of attackers hit the front and the lines began to bend. Vlad jumped back into the first line, Frostmourne again bringing down foe after foe. No need for flashy movements or swordsmanship, all he needed were short, brutal cuts through his enemies legs and their heads once they had fallen. It was already necessary to watch any step on a floor covered in at least three different kinds of blood. And yet again, this was not only a problem for one side, and raging monsters were not the best at watching their steps.

However, Yogg-Saron was aware of what his minions did, and since they were unable to crush the intruders in a suitably brutal fashion, it was time to send someone far stronger than basic minions. The second wave wipe out the intruders in an swift and approprietly drastic fashion. The old god had to break his remaining shackles and wished not to be disturbed, so any such disturbance by mortal insects had to be made an example of. In addition, Yogg-Saron found the slaughter of such creatures endlessly amusing. The great bloodbath would have to wait for a while, but there was no reason not to start now.

The approach of the second wave could be heard despite the fighting in process, or rather felt as their steps made the ground shake. Two massive figures could be seen coming closer through the heavy doors, both of monstrous size and surounded by even more faceless monsters. It was rather clear to anyone who could see the situation that this would mean the end for the vanguard within a short time. But despite being battered, bloody and third of them being dead, the vanguard had some steam left to take down more of Yogg-Saron's minions with them.

Gathering the remains of his magical power, Vlad placed most of it a single bolt of magic and fired it through the door into the ceiling of the second hall. The resulting explosion tore large chunks of rock out of the ceiling and crushed more enemies below said rocks.

Now the two giant creatures came into full view, and Vlad felt a shiver running down his spine. One was humanoid, but more than twenty meters tall. One hand held a massive warhammer, the other one seemed to ready some fire-based spell. The other one was a colossal wyvern covered in metal plating. And they were not there just for show. The giant charged forward and unleashed his spell to wash over the right flank of the Scourge and the left flank of the Alliance, incinerating anyone caught within the flame, breaking all defensive spells and turning armor into molten slag. The wyvern did the same on the left part of the Scourge and the Horde forces. In doing so they killed hundreds of their own allies, but why would they care? There was no shortage of Yogg-Saron's minions.

And then the other ace in the sleeve of the vanguard came fully into play. The giant could only widen his eyes in time when Sintharia charged into him, sunk her fangs into the arm holding the hammer and pushed him into the next wall. In turn, the giant set her on fire, yet fire was something black dragons were immune to.

With her picking her foe, that left Vlad to take on the wyvern. Not a matchup he was comfortable with, but one could not always choose.

His earlier words had been true, Vlad had never learned to teleport. But he could move very quickly in his mist form and could change in and out of it within the blink of an eye, and so could use this ability in a way quite similar to short range teleportation, at least against foes who didn't know much about magic.

So he charged in flying, switched back into his standard form and stabbed Frostmourne in a gap between two of the plates covering the wyvern's left leg. The metal was far more resistant to Frostmourne than expected, and so the blade only went in halfway. The wyvern still jerked back in pain, and then it struck back, Vlad turning into mist again to dodge. Even the Plate of the Damned would not stop the sheer force behind each blow from such a being from crushing every bone in his body.

Another flying dash, another strike with Frostmourne, and the wyvern again felt the runeblade's bite. Yet the creature was too strong to sucumb to tiny wounds, even those inflicted by Frostmourne. As the wyvern took another deep breath, it became painfully obvious that Vlad would not be able to take this beast down with just a sword, even with a runeblade.

He could drain a lot of energy from the survivors of his freshly created zombies and Frostmourne, but where would he need to strike in order to take the wyvern down? Metal plating and dragon scales would make it very difficult for a spell to pierce in a meaningful way, and preparing the spell was not an option.

Fire exploded all around the wyvern as the monster aimed its breath at the floor, letting fire flow in all directions. Vlad rose a dome of ice over him, and while it was enough for now, it would survive a more concentrated attack. And Vlad would not be able to dodge around forever.

There were so few weakspots in his enemy's armor safe for the eyes, and Vlad was not sure if he would be able to hit those with a spell of sufficient power to actually take the wyvern down. And he would not have more than a few tries at best and one at worst. With the wyvern constantly moving its head, hitting the eyes might be truly difficult.

* * *

Yogg-Saron slowly got angry as his minions failed to just squash the intruders like they were supposed to. It was time for some personal action in the matter. Since Yogg-Saron ruled Ulduar, there were quite a few way in which the old god could influence the fighting even from miles away. One of those was to stop certain kinds of magic from working. Laughting maniacally from a dozen different maws, Yogg-Saron went to show these insects the proper meaning of power.

* * *

Sintharia closed her maw with all the strength she could muster and felt how bones cracked between her teeth. The blood in her maw tasted horrible, she barely noticed it as she violently shook her head, ripping and tearing through the corrupted flesh and the armor around it. More fire engulfed her, but she paid them no mind. Compared to her experiences with heat, this was harmless warmth. The hammer had been the threat, and this threat had been neutralized as the limb holding the hammer was now a bloody ruin. Time to move on.

Again, the corruption showed the perks it provided as the giant ingnored the pain from his now useless limb and went for his dagger with his good hand. Sintharia charged again, jumping and flapping her wings in the final part before crashing into the giant again. Her front claws dug into his shoulders, her maw closed around his throat and her tail smashed into his left side, breaking several ribs. The giant now felt the rush of adrenalin anyone felt with jaws closed around his neck. The giant brought its dagger to bear, and Sintharia now felt the burning pain as the blade was thrust into her flank, scratching over her ribs. She closed her eyes and bit down with all her strength once more, and the spine between her teeth snapped with sound like a breaking tree, and the body it belonged to went down.

Then, the world went dark and blurry as a wave of corrupted magic hit home. Scenes began to flood her mind, scenes she had not cared about before her resurrection and had not actually seen. Nefarian, collapsing under a hail of bullets, blades and spells. Onyxia, losing her fatal duell against Korialstrasz in her lair. The heads above the gates of Stormwind and Orgrimmar. her own experiments in Grim Batol. _No, I will not fall to this! You are the one responsible, and you will pay for it! I will undo your deeds and yourself!_ Using the pain to fuel her wrath, Sintharia began to force her way through the attack. Yogg-Saron would feel the pain she felt, and then some more when she was done with him. And then, his cronies were next on the list. Her vision cleared just in time to see the next scene in reality.

* * *

Vlad dodged yet another barrage of fireballs and melee strikes. All around him, Yogg-Saron's minions felt the wrath of the wyvern and were promptly obliterated. A few shots bounced of the metal plating as a small group of surviving Alliance soldiers opened fire at the wyvern's head, achieving nothing but attracting its attention. A second later, the group was turned to ash.

A wave of magic hit the hall, and Vlad felt how his ability to change shape was shut down by someone he could not hope to fight. This changed the situation from bad to catastrophic. The wyvern sensed it too, the massive head seeming to smile as the creature realized that there would be no more dodging today. Vlad was prepared to die, it was not his first time and while he hoped for every time to be the last, it was not unlikely that this would happen again in the future, as long as he kept this lifestyle. But if would die again this day, his foe would die with him. The amount of magical energy he had left should be more than enough if he got a good shot, and foe certain of total victory was likely to give Vlad the chance he needed.

Lightning was not his prefered kind of elemental magic, but it was the best at combining high firepower with range and accuracy, and the radius was irrelevant here. Vlad began his spell as the wyvern took a deep breath, and as the wyvern unleashed his flame, Vlad released the lightning, aiming into the open maw. Both attacks hit, and both had their desired result. Vlad was prepared for the agonizing pain as fire devoured his body, yet through the eyes of one of the handful of surviving zombies, he could see his spell do its work. The bolt of lightning hit its mark and exploded, shattering flesh, bone and metal. The wyvern also felt only a brief flash of pain its brain was blown out through the ruin of its skull. Its smoking head looking not dissimilar to that of a human after being shot in the head at point blank range with a high powered weapon, the massive creature collapsed on the floor, twitching a few times as life needed some time to leave the colossal body.

* * *

Sintharia saw Vlad dying, and something in her cracked. A barriers was broken, a barrier she had not even know to exist. A brutal outburst of raw magic force killed every single servant of Yogg-Saron in her vicinity, and the more rational part of her mind told her that this was beyond her abilities even in her best state. This kind of action should exhaust her to the brink of consciousness, yet she had just done so in the blink of an eye with nearly no effort. There was something deeply wrong with this. But the rational part of her mind was not in control now. Burning wrath had taken over and would not back down until everyone even remotely responsible was a charred husk on the floor. And if she somehow got the power to take down everything in her way, she would take it.

Her magic had also killed the few survivors of Horde and Alliance, but Sintharia didn't even notice, and if she had, she wouldn't have cared much.

* * *

The magical attack startes by Yogg-Saron had been felt by anyone within a dozen miles around Ulduar, even by those completely without magical talent. This was enough reason to assume that the vanguard had met an unpleasent end, and yet there something else. Just a few seconds after the attack by the old god, another source of magical energy burst open in Ulduar, and as many well educated mage could tell, the dark energy streaming out of it was not from Azeroth.

Sindragosa and Sartharion broke through the debris to find an abandoned, still smoking battlefield. Hundreds of bodies littered the floor, most of them burned completely. No survivors here as far as they could tell, but there was a trail of further corpses leading deeper into Ulduar. In the distance, they could here faint sounds of slaughter, and everyone in here was vibrating with a dark magic they had not felt before. Or had they...

"You recognize it too, don't you? This magic, while not been the same, is very similar to the one Vakarthys used, isn't it?" Sartharion spoke in questions simply because he hoped to be wrong.

"I do. I don't know what it means, but somehow I am sure it is not good for us." Sindragosa carefully lead them further into the complex, hoping and failing to hide her own fear. If the sounds coming out of the next hall were any indication, the vanguard had truly stabbed into a hornet's nest.

* * *

Far away, Dahak grinned as he watched the carnage taking place in Ulduar. This went even better than expected and Azarneth had chosen well. Even if one of those he chose needed some help, Dahak was more than willing to give her what she needed right now.


	20. Chapter 19

AN: 100k words! As this appears to be a milestone, I would like to thank all those who endure my spelling, read, follow, review and favourite this story. Thanks for your support.

* * *

The rats had come back, and they had come back in force. From where there numbers had come was something any dwarf would have paid any price to know, yet there was now way to find out as the rats fought to the death if cornered. And while they seemed not be very brave, they were deadly. Not as strong as a dwarf, but very quick and well arm. Some of their technology was superior to anything designed on Azeroth, although this technology seemed to backfire quite often and with disastrous results. And they came to attack and again, in spite of being beaten back every single time. Whoever commanded them was well aware of the strengths of his troops and utterly ruthless. None of their leaders seemed to care about friendly fire and their weapons were just as cruel as those of the Scourge. Just yesterday, the rats had bound the dwarfs in melee before firing gas bombs into the fray, sacrificing three or four of their own for every dead dwarf, and it was quite obviously not an accident. Most troops would turn on their commanders for such behavior, but the rats seemed not to care for their comrades in any way.

Still, they could bleed and die, and so the Alliance was willing to make that happen. Reinforcements had arrived and the defenders of Ironforge were confident in their ability to hold the city. However, many were worried about sending more troops to Ironforge as doing so meant reducing the garrisons elsewhere. Fighting both here and in Northrend brought the Alliance to the limit of its military capabilities, and there was much worry about the Horde seeing and taking a chance. Casualties were already substantial, and this would not stay unnoticed.

Queek in turn was just as rapid as always, yet he knew he could not take the city of the beard-things without the weapons of the Skyre. And since they were all just as treacherous as they were insane, they had to be the first ones to die. But that spineless moron Ikit kept his best troops out of the fighting, leaving the normal clanrats and stormvermin to bleed. Queek didn't give a rat's ass about their lives, but the survivors both wanted money and tried to blame their pathetic failure on him! The first few who voiced such madness were long dead, and yet as long as the coward Ikit kept his machines back, Queek's divinely inspired genius could not work properly. This was intolerable, and it would have to be changed quickly and with sufficient brutality. A word that filled Queek's heart with the joy of a very deranged child. Brutality...

It was time to lead the next assault in person, after dealing with the warlocks. This world would be heaven for Queek, for there were no Grey Seers in this world an no one could stop the almighty Headtaker!

"Attack, you cowardly morons! Stab-kill all who oppose the Great Horned Rat! For the glory of all Skavendom!"

The first cannon ball smashed into the unit of stormvermin and sent dozens of shattered bodies flying like rag dolls. The second, third and fourth followed within seconds and did roughly the same. The smell of fear rose from them, but Queek simply beheaded the next pawleader before continuing.

"Beard-things reloading now, imbeciles! Charge-run or die-die!"

Seeing their tyrannical leader had embraced his legendary lust for blood and slaughter, the skaven did charge, fearing Queek's rage more than the enemy artillery. Soon enough, Queek would be where he wanted to be.

The beard-things had risen a shield wall as they always did, and while the fools he commanded faced it directly, Queek knew how to deal with this kind of formation. The formation was only three ranks deep, enough to kill stuttering cowards like those the Headtaker commanded, but insufficient to stop a warrior of his magnitude.

Charging in, Queek simply leapt over the shield wall and crashed into their rear as they still blinked at the sight. Warpick and sword went to their deadly work and as Queek spilled blood, foam formed on his lips. Laughting at this delightful massacre, he cut down foe after foe, swift as lighting and far stronger than his wiry body would let his enemies assume. And any such assumption in a fight had a good chance of being fatal. The beard-things would be able to hold on for some time, like their kind always did, but they could not do so forever, and Queek was more than willing to pay the price of victory.

* * *

It took Yogg-Saron less than a minute to realize that personally intervening had backfired horribly, yet there was no explanation as to how this had happened. The dragon's reaction to the visions send and the Lich King dying had been unexpected, but would have been easily manageable. Yet now the used magic on an entirely different scale, annihilating Yogg-Saron's creatures faster than they could swarm the halls and corridors. This was beyond the possibilities of any non-divine being, and Yogg-Saron was certain the dragon was not divine. Now the old god was cornered and in spite of all the arrogance of such a being, concern began to take a hold. Another divine being was perhaps the only thing Yogg-Saron might be afraid of, and the rage of such a being so close would worry the old god deeply. Not that the hundreds of dead slaves mattered in any way, but any actual danger did matter a lot.

* * *

Rimefang could only gaze in awe at the massacre that had been the further tunnels. Nearly every inch of the ground and the walls was covered in blood and gore, most of it also burned. Was this Sintharia's work? Most likely, as they had not found her yet and the sounds of fighting didn't stop. All over dead bodies might be damaged beyond recognition, but a great wyrm would still be seen for what she had been. With no such corpse in sight, it was likely her rampaging through the defenders, although Rimefang had no idea as to how was able to do that. The constant surge of dark magic they all felt was far too strong to be controlled by any living creature for more than maybe a second, and yet this magic was in constant use for several minutes by now. This alone would be enough to burn out anyone like a used torch, even without the efforts of Yogg-Saron's servants to kill all intruders. If Sintharia had this kind of might at her disposal, Rimefang could only wonder how anyone she didn't like was still breathing.

The group continued their advance, and from his position on the left flank, Rimefang could watch the evolution in the carnage as they pushed deeper into the ancient city. At first, the remains had been at least somewhat recognizeable, but got more and more destroyed the more they advanced, until everything had been turned to dust and ash, with only the odd smear of gore every now and then and the smell of burned flesh so thick that it was almost visible. The walls and ground had also suffered greatly, the upper layer of stone partially molten and covered with craters. As they got further, the patterns of the destruction got more and more erratic, showing how a loss in control was compensated by the use of even more firepower.

While walking, Rimefang also began to wonder how they should deal with Sintharia once they found her. Everything he had seen so far had the handwriting of a maniac with way too much power written all over it, and the destination of this rampage was only hidden from the blind and the stupid. Would they be able to talk Sintharia out of her rage? _Hopefully, otherwise we are totally screwed. Well, we could follow her down to the end, probably our end. Maybe the queen or Sartharion could knock her out so we can drag her to safety, but I don't want to see that being tried and failing._

A few defenders came stumbled out of side corridors, providing proof that even those creatures could suffer from shock as well as showing how sloppy Sintharia's rampage had gotten. However, in this state, they were no threat and fell swiftly as Rimefang and the others advanced further.

* * *

The next group of targets charged around a corner and was disintegrated in flash of blue light, leaving just a few charred bones to drop to ground. Sintharia growled. These feeble creatures thrown into her way were hardly worth the attention required to remove them, doing nothing but slowing her down ever so slightly. The delays only served to fuel her wrath even further, and even with a slower pace, Yogg-Saron would feel this wrath soon enough.

The gate to the next hall was blocked and the gate itself sealed when it came into few. A wordless curse and a massive explosion later there was no gate and the path was clear. The defenders probably began to get desperade as none of their efforts resulted in anything but high casualties for their side. Sintharia was vaguely aware of the enemies streaming in from the sides taking positions along the way back, but didn't care much anyway. They would be dealt with once their master was finished, or rather after she was finished with making said master pay.

Projectiles of burning darkness tore a few constructs apart as they tried to aim their cannons at her, but all their shots were bashed aside by a sudden wind stronger than a tornado. Who was Yogg-Saron to think a few hunks of rust would be able to stop her? Despair seemed to be something the old gods could feel, so there was a good chance of them feeling pain as well. Sintharia could only growl and hiss as he continued her way in a proud yet almost casual way, making sure Yogg-Saron would feel his despair for a while before she got to him. Delaying her advance only delayed the inevitable, and it gave her time to imagine her options for that occasion. Turning all her grief into hatred for now, her thoughts on the subject were as creative as those of an inspired artist and cruel enough to rival the Burning Legion's masters of torture. This was overdue for a long time, and the score would be settled with all the interest of the past few millenia.

The three groups of constructs further down the massive hall were dealt with in the same way, swift outburst of brute magical force annihilating all resistance in a matter of moments. A few shots were fired in return, only to be turned aside by a subconcious reaction and a power beyond the reach of most beings. She was getting close now, close enough to feel Yogg-Saron just a few halls away, and her mind cherished at the thought of ripping the old god apart, one tentacle after the other. _Don't just rush into this!,_ the rational and cautious part of her mind yelled, already know that it would be ignored again. However, even the most cautious part of her mind could not deny how well everything had gone so far.

Another set of doors blasted to bits, another group of pitiful minions splattered across walls, floor and even the ceiling. Caution again told her that those minions would normally be able to take her down, maybe not alone, but four or five would be enough to end her. Wrath countered with the notion that two dozen of them had fallen already without landing a single hit, and that there was no sign of her sudden power being limited. Caution was something for creatures with no access to endless divine power!

* * *

Vakarthys stood at a street corner in Dalaran, making no effort to hide, and stared at the church down the street. He didn't worry about his menacing presence and spiky armor attracting unwanted attention. Indeed, he wished for someone to strike against him, someone he could fight to alleviate his boredom.

The priest had told the truth about the few things he had actually known, so draggings his spirit back and asking again was unnecessary. Something had changed in the holy aura around the church, something only noticeable for those who had learned what to look for long ago. The decision to be made now was how to handle the situation correctly. A frontal assault was tempting, and since only the Scourge and their allies knew who he was, it would be seen as an attack by an unknown force, leaving Azarneth's recruits out of the ensuing mess. Vakarthys despised acting stealthy, prefering the use of overwhelming force to get what he wanted swiftly, yet orders were orders and he would follow them.

All thoughts about the pleasure of fighting celestials in the streets and the lovely havoc this would cause all ovet the city were blown away when Vakarthys felt the power surge in Ulduar. In fact, he felt it as if it was only a few blocks away. And in contrast to the natives of Azeroth, he recognized the source of this magic immidiately. But who was his master granting this power to and why? Dahak was not exactly generous for most of the time, Azarneth was still recovering and no other agents had been send. Could one of the new recruits have received such a blessing already? It was the only plausible explanation, and it meant that they were much better than Vakarthys had thought. Or Dahak's plan was dependant on their sucess and they would otherwise fail, or...

His train of thought was derailed again he realized that someone was watching him. Yet with the with experience of thousands of years, he maintained the same posture as before, seemingly oblivious to the situation. After all, hating the need for stealth didn't mean that he was bad at hiding things.

The one who watched him had taken measures to stay out of sight, probably some sort of invisibility spell, and a good one. Without making noticeable efforts, Vakarthys could pinpoint his location, but that was all. Vakarthys would have to take care of this somewhere else. As if nothing was out of the ordinary, he turned around and left, waiting for the other to shadow him to a place where the tables could be turned without causing panic in the population. Or were this was less likely at least.

Yet his stalker was careful and very aware of the usual tricks and didn't fall for such a classic, keeping enough distance to Vakarthys to make a quick, subtle attack impossible. But when they arrived in the part of the city where a smaller spectacle would be politely ignored as long as it didn't interfere with the local business, the stalker gave up and left. This was both relaxing and disappointing, keeping public peace while denying Vakarthys a bit of fun.

His expression changed from smug to downright psychopathic, and he smiled as the next drug dealer took a few steps back and reached for a knife. Two could play the stalking game, and there were very few areas Vakarthys would not dare to enter. And since of those he knew were far, far away, he turned around and went back from where they had come, his magic sight focused on the aura of his stalker.

The stalker was also aware of the changed situation, but chose a different path. Instead of heading for a place were unwanted attention could be dealt with, he chose a place where said unwanted attention would be unable to act. Or so the stalker seemed to hope. Seeing the place the stalker had chosen, Vakarthys' smile widened even further, but was now hidden under his closed visor.

The violet citadel was of course heavily guarded, and while fighting a way through would be entertaining, it would give the stalker the time to escape. With no documents or anything of the sort to allow him entry, Vakarthys went for an old and well tested approach: Audacity and arrogance combined with an intimidating presence. Everyone with half a brain would see that a blood red armor covered with spikes and a horned helmet was someone evil, but how would such an evil being just walking into the citadel? Surely someone would have stopped an evil creature before it got here, so its presence was most likely allowed here. And those who did worry about the matter enough would have to confront the evil in question, and who anyone dared to enter the citadel without being tolerated was certainly not someone you wanted to mess with. So the guards simply kept their eyes on Vakarthys, who reacted with the arrogance of confidence of someone who considered guards to be not more important than furniture, if he noticed them at all.

With that out of the way, the next challenge would be to find his would-be stalker in this maze of rooms and corridors without causing a scene.

It was infuriating. Two hours of searching for his stalker had brought no results. Apperently his target had teleported himself out of the citadel without Vakarthys noticing it. A detail to be remembered, but also something that made his blood boil. He had to work of some steam before loosing his patience in the wrong place or at the wrong time. Yet as Vakarthys left the citadel, causing a few guards to sigh in relief, he could not shake off the feeling that he was still being watched. This situation needed a solution, and fast before he decided to take a more direct approach.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, the pain was no more, only to be swiftly replaced with shock at the sight in front of him. Vlad had died quite a few times while wearing his ring and remembered the afterlife he waited in before he could resurrect himself, and this place was something entirely different. The afterlife he knew had always been a dark forest covered in thick grey mist, but now he stood in some sort of volcanic wasteland under a multicolored sky torn apart by green lighting. It looked quite a bit like the Chaos Wastes of his old homeworld, but it was not saturated in the raw chaos energy he would expect. This land was still tainted in some way, just in a way Vlad had not known before. For the first few minutes, he remained still, focusing only on his magical sight. And did not like what he saw one bit. The landscape was a mess of tainted energies, but none of them had a concentration high enough to cause harm in a short time frame, and he still had a very frail connection to the Helm of Damnation and through it to the Scourge. The problem was the spell that looked like an almost invisible wall around him, maybe ten meters away currently but slowly coming closer.

Vlad had heard of the concept of a resurrection trap before, a spell to make sure the resurrection of someone would happen in a place the trap's maker chose before, for example in thr crater of a volcano or directly in front of a loaded cannon, but he had thought it to be a mere concept. This however looked an awful lot like a working example, and the clock was ticking. The speed at which the wall came closer was a double-edged sword, it meant that he would be back soon, but probably in a very uncomfortable place.

With time now being a limited resource, he tried to reach out to the Scourge creatures who had been close to his last living position. The trap reacted immidiately, trying to sever the connection. The connection would not survive the attack for long, but Vlad could only hope it lasted long enough. Not that he had much of a choice.

* * *

Rimefang was suprised when he felt a familiar presence reaching out to his own mind.

 _Sir, you're alive! We feared you were dead!_

 _You feared right. We were set up to fail, and a resurrection trap was placed here. Grap everyone and get out of there!_

 _I would, but we have a different problem down here. Sintharia seems to have gone crazy, using magic beyond all reasonable ability to blast her deeper into Ulduar!_

 _Stop her! I don't care how, but you have to get everyone out as soon as can! Whoever planned this was well aware of our possibilities and almost certainly has some sort of backup plan ready. Any hesitation might spell our doom!_

The connection broke as swiftly as it had been established, leaving Rimefang with no small amount of fear. Von Carstein was indeed dead, and apperently afraid, and everything that scared the Lich King was something Rimefang really didn't want to face. At least he had a solid task for now.

He informed the others, and they too became even more worried than they already were in this cursed place. If this really was a trap, things could only get worse than they already were. And they had only gotten so far because Sintharia had suddenly received endless magical power, something neither Yogg-Saron nor the one placing the trap could have predicted. Without it, the faceless ones in here would be far too numerous to defeat.

As they rushed through even more corridors filled with burned remains, they all could feel how they got closer to the sources of both the corruption and the dark magic Sintharia used. Rimefang could only hope for them to reach Sintharia before she reached the old god. Getting into the crossfire of those two was something no sane creature would want.

The whole group slowed down as they reached the next set of blasted doors, mentally preparing to face both the crazy Sintharia and whatever monster Yogg-Saron threw in her way. From the sounds they could hear, the battle was still raging. Side by side, Sartharion and Sindragosa stepped through the doorframe, with Rimefang and the others following, all of them ready to fight or flee depending on what they would face.

The confrontation they saw was rather onesided, the raging Sintharia incinerating anything she couldn't rip to shreds. Both sides didn't even notice the newcomers until they charged into the rear of Yogg-Saron's servants.

Rimefang fired his breath into the backs of the next two monsters before charging in. A short jump brought him into melee range and and he wasted no time, burrying his teeth in the neck of the first one and crushing its spine. As the first one fell, its comrade had turned to face him, burned by the cold of his breath but still willing and able to fight. Unwilling to give his enemy a chance, Rimefang simply fired his breath again before the faceless one could get closer, and the second burst of ice was too much for the creature. All around him, the remaining enemies fell.

"Sintharia, we have to get out of here! This was a setup!" Sartharion stepped into her path. "Keep your wrath, but please keep it under control."

She ignored him, simply walking around him instead. But Sartharion would not let her run into her doom, even if she wanted to. The magic she used was able to keep her alive and concious for a while, but she would suffer the consequences of ignoring her limits sooner or later. Better to make her suffer them now rather than seeing her die from it later.

"Vlad isn't truly dead, he will return, I promise." It hurt to see her pained expression, but he needed an opening. As she froze to think about his words, Sartharion struck. As soon as he moved, she reacted, but was too slow. Using the powers he had gotten from absorbing twilight magic, Sartharion turned incorporeal, avoiding the her claws before becoming solid again. His own attack, a tail strike aimed at her head did hit, and Sintharia reeled back, only to be hit by a copy of the same strike by Sindragosa from behind. Even with the strange magic at her disposal, two hits were too much and she went down.

Sartharion grapped her unconcious body. "Help me carry her out of here. Sindragosa, I think you're the next in the chain of command, at least for the Scourge."

Several frostwyrms did as Sartharion asked, and a few seconds later the whole group ran. It was soon revealed to be a good choice as Yogg-Saron was hungry for vengeance and his frenzied minions swarmed Ulduar in pursuit. Yet these minions were soon left behind as the group took to the sky, leaving the complex through the holes in the ceiling caused by the explosives that had trapped the vanguard inside.

Outside, the group split up, most of its members returning to Naxxramas immidiately while Sindragosa flew down to the camps of Horde and Alliance. Someone had to deliver the bad news and this was the responsibility of a leader. Her sudden landing caused most people nearby to reach for their weapons, but no one actually tried to use them, so she paid their caution no mind.

"I need to talk to your commanders immidiately!" The soldiers close by were mostly to scared to do much, but a few had the nerve to act, and it did not take long before both general Hubert Borgwen and Saurfang the elder arrived. Both of them looked wary, as they had obviously learned that something had gone drastically wrong.

"The explosion was caused by a traitor and trapped the vanguard inside. Lady Winters is the only survivor we found, everyone else is either dead or missing, which most likely means dead and to disfigured to be identified." Sindragosa had no patience for introfuctions. "I recommed very member of the vanguard to be posthumously awarded for bravery. The Scourge will retreat from Ulduar immidiately."

"The Lich King agreed to the truce until the threat of Yogg-Saron is dealt with!", Borgwen growled. "What gives you the right to break this pact?"

For about two seconds, Sindragosa considered crushing this insolent fool. But this day had been bad enough as it was.

"Winters is unconcious and heavily wounded, and von Carstein is missing. Until one of them is able to assume command, I am acting lord protector of the Scourge, and I will not wait for the next treason. The damage we caused should be enough to allow you to handle the rest." She turned around and left without another word.

* * *

Sartharion took great care to watch over the unconcious Sintharia. Her vitals were pretty weak, but steady, and the strange magic seemed to have vanished completely. Still, he would watch her until she had recovered, and later, just to be sure that her overuse of magic had not caused lasting damage. But where had she gotten this power? It was way beyond the ability of anyone within the Scourge to wield such power, and the only person Sartharion knew to do so was Deathwing. The one he was unsure about was Vakarthys, but Sartharion was fairly certain that while Vakarthys might be able to use such power, he would not be able to grant it to others, and he would not have done so, since he and Sintharia had not exactly been close friends. But such power was not just lying around to be picked up when needed. With all due respect for Sintharia and her considerable abilities, Sartharion didn't believe her to be able to aquire such magic, at least within such a short time frame. So who had given it to her? The provider had to be extremely mighty to do so, and would probably want something in return. And given how the world worked, such help would not be cheap.

Naxxramas was probably not the best place for living beings to recover, but it would have to do for now. At least the cavernous halls were large enough to be comfortable.

"What have you gotten yourself into?", he whispered to her. "I might have done the same, but then you would tell me how risky that would be. Just make it through this, okay? There are few enough of us as it is."

He had not expected an answer, and was startled when he received one.

"She will be out for a few days, but there will be no lasting damage." The voice who spoke those words was ancient and terrifying, sounding as if it had been created from an inferno. Sartharion jumped into a fighting stance, but there was no one to fight in here.

"Relax, I mean you no harm. In fact, I am rather impressed..."

The voice could not finish the sentence as Sindragosa barged into the room, surounded by an aura of frost magic.

"You is this? Show yourself!"

"You too don't need to worry, little one." Sartharion saw how Sindragosa recognized the voice, and he didn't like it one bit, especially since her reaction seemed to include fear. He jumped to her side, and together they faced the figure in the corner of the room. It was nothing that could be identified, just a cloud of blood-red flame and black smoke.

"Calm down, I didn't come here to fight. All three of you did better than I expected." Sartharion was sure that what he saw was not the true self of the speaker, and he was happy about that. A projection was something they should be able to defeat if necessary, while the owner of the voice might be above their paygrade.

"She handled my power with a skill I didn't expected, and did so without burning herself out. Most people who receive it tend to kill themself due to recklessness." The voice chuckled. "And in spite of the power given to her, you two got in close and stopped her by hitting her over the head. I admire that kind of pragmatism."

Sartharion's eyes narrowed at the somewhat condesending tone. There were many ways to gain trust, and sending a projecting into a fortress was not one of them. Scaring people made it even worse, and arrogance was not helping either. He would need to talk to Sindragosa about her suprisingly bad taste in acquaintances later.

"I see you are a little tense, so let me make this quick," the voice said with a hint of annoyance. "Continue to act like you did, but remember whom you serve." The last words were a vicious growl, and the projection disappeared in a flash of light.

"How did you meet this person again?" Sindragosa let her head hang as she heard the question, but it was obvious that Sartharion would insist on an answer right now.

"He freed me from the will of the Lich King, before von Carstein arrived."

Sartharion's eyes widened. "How is that even remotely possible? And who is this person anyway?"

"I don't know the answer to your first question, and for the second, I don't know much either. I was offered a simple deal: My loyality in exchange for my freedom from the Lich King's control. I accepted. He mentioned that von Carstein and Sintharia are working as his agents, but I don't think they know much either. Von Carstein mentioned having a superior, but they parted ways weeks before von Carstein got to Northrend, and the describtion of this superior doesn't fit my benefactor."

"So a colleague of this superior?"

"Maybe. From what von Carstein said, his superior was not the highest in the chain of command. My benefactor could be the one at the top." She sighed.

"His power would make that quite likely, and doesn't appear to be the kind of person who takes orders."

Since all those affairs were currently way beyond their control and thinking about them now would just make them feel miserable, Sartharion chose to change the topic to something more lighthearted.

"Tell me, is this relationship between Sintharia and von Carstein something serious, or just a normal affair?"

"I think it is serious. Von Carstein gave her a ring, and she accepted it."

"Really? Damn, it's been a long time since I attented a wedding. I hope they won't regret it."

"Tell me about missing social events. But there is some more gossip I have to investigate. When are you going to tell Nalice about your feelings?"

Sartharion grinned. "You don't know?" Judging the impression of a frostwyrm was rather difficult in most cases, but this time it was quite easy. "Nalice and I are related, she is my half-sister to be exact."

Sindragosa chuckled. "Well, there goes the gossip. But you do or did have your eyes on someone, don't you? I know you care a lot about your duty, but that can't be your entire life."

"If that's what we will talk about, I suggest we get a few drinks first."

* * *

Whatever this new afterlife actually was, it did have one major benefit: His stay in this place was rather short, only few days he guest, unable to really tell in this strange world. It was enough time to prepare for another death at the hands of the one who had planted the trap to begin with, or for being imprisoned. Vlad would await his fate with the calm of someone who didn't fear death most of the time, and he had even found a way to cheat death by means that interfered with his ring, although he would only test his theory if he had no other option. Right now, he prepared to look beaten down and pathetic, to fool his potential captors with a false sense of surrender. He had often seen how those who thought to be victorious had suffered for their overconfidence, and he was not quite as isolated as his captor would want. The trap had been able to block his connection to the Scourge, but breaking said bond was beyond his abilities. Once he got out of here, he would be able to inform the Scourge about his exact location.

He was however worried sick about Sintharia. Had she made it out of Ulduar in time? She was not the kind of person who retreated voluntarily, and his death might have affected her stronger than he had thought first. He should have told her about his ring earlier. Much earlier.

 _Still,_ he tried to calm his conscience, _the others would not have left her behind, and they know what they are doing. She is not someone who would die in a cursed ruin, she would flee and come back with more forces at her back and a better plan._ Or at least he hoped so.

The actual resurrection was nothing new, the same short, intense pain of being compressed into a physical form again together with a flood of sensations as he entered the world once more, leaving him staggered and blind for a few seconds.

As his vision cleared, he saw the naked stone walls of a dungeon, and between him and these walls, a formation of warriors, paladins judging from the painful aura of holiness surounding them. A first impulse was to unleash his own magic, to kill everyone on his path to escape from this place, wherever it actually was. Yet he forced himself to resist the urge, to stay calm at the point of a dozen glowing swords and to adress this matter in a way more befitting of a king.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. Might I inquire where we currently are?" Vlad stepped forward, showing his empty hands to make sure they saw that he was unarmed. His belongings had been sent to his pocket dimension in the moment of his death, so armor and weapons were available if needed, but they were to required in this moment. And even without a weapon, Vlad was more than able to defend himself.

"Don't take one step further! You are under arrest for crimes against Azeroth!", one of the armored soldiers shouted.

"That's funny, given how short my time in office was and how little I actually did to harm this world. But I can see that you are only following orders from someone you had vowed to serve. But tell me, is this wet dungeon how you treat royal prisoners? I know, it sounds awfully entitled, but I would really prefer a more comfortable cell. And since this", he looked around in the room he could see, "looks to be the classic type of dungeon you would find below a castle, I am sure there are some much nicer rooms nearby."

"You are right", a different voice answered, cold and hard as steel, the kind of voice one would expect from someone willing to do whatever it takes to achieve a goal. "We thought it might be necessary to put you down again, but you seem to have judged the situation correctly. And you will be transfered. I recommed you not to resist."

The speaker remained hidden, and once he had spoken his words, the paladins surounded Vlad and began to move. Curious about this whole affair, Vlad simply played along, all the time sending a telepathic call to the Scourge. Talking through the connection was something the paladins might be able to sense, but a something like a simple call was most unlikely to be noticed. And if it was discovered, those close to Vlad would be in far more trouble than he was.

The paladins let him through several corridors of this dungeon before they reached a staircase. Vlad could already smell a hint of semi-fresh air from above, and the smell was not unknown to him. It was the smell of Elwynn Forest, combined with the various smells of many people living in one place.

 _Stormwind City_ , he whispered to the Scourge, _I am held prisoner in Stormwind City._

From now on, it was time to wait, watch and learn what was going on here, and to be ready once things began to happen quickly. Deep inside his unbeating heart, wrath began to stir. The Alliance had been behind this setup, and they would pay. Vlad had initially been doubtful about the treason, but for all his hatred, Garrosh was not the person to use covert actions. Other factions had been suspects as well, but this confirmed all suspicion.

 _You probably think you have won, that I will agree to do anything in your captivity, or that you can somehow use me to take control of the Scourge, or to destroy it. You will be proven wrong soon enough, and there is one thing you will learn all too well: The undead have a lot of time to plan and exact their vengeance, and tent to remember such slights and betrayals quite well._ Vlad grinned internally while maintaing his downtrodden facade. These fools would see their mistake soon enough, just before they would meet their end. And if the limited forces of the Scourge were to small and too far away to act swiftly enough, there were other options. He still had Windrunner's soul, and she would do a lot to get it back. And support in attacking those she hated anyway would sweeten the deal even further...


	21. Chapter 20

The guards escorted Vlad through what he assumed to be Stormwind Castle, although he had never seen it from the inside and could therefore only take an educated guess. He was brought into a suite much more fitting for a prisoner of his status, although the sheer number of spells meant to prevent an escape placed on this room was almost comical. Many of them were meant to stop any attempt at teleportation and were therefore utterly useless, and Vlad was relatively confidence in his ability to break out on his own. But he would not do so, at least not now. There was a lot he could learn here, and he would not let this chance get away. The one behind the trap would come to continue his plans sooner or later, and waiting for the mask to fall would be easier than to try to rip it of. The conspirator or the conspirators would not trust mere servants to do something of great importance properly, and when they came to do the job right, Vlad would know who they were, and through him, all of the Scourge would know the enemy. A plan not without its risks, but a chance worth taking.

As it was to be expected, the paladins did not stay in the room with him, no wonder since his presence was as uncomfortable to them as theirs was to him. In the way of all hierachical systems, the duty of guarding the prisoner inside his cell was given to three normal castle guards. They all seemed to be very aware of how bad their odds were if the Lich King actually tried to escape, and so they tried to move as little as humanly possible, silently praying that once the Lich King wanted out of here, he might just ignore them if they remained still.

Vlad took his time to watch their nervousness before making his move.

"So, you are soldiers on guard duty. I bet a tower of Icecrown that one of you has a set of cards or dice with him."

The three soldiers stayed still, trying to ignore him. Their attempts were a little amusing, but also irritating.

"Look, we all know it doesn't matter whether or not you are ready. You are not going to stop if I really try to leave. The squads of paladins outside have a decent chance I'd say, but you three would be dead before you could even blink. So why not play a game or two? Being nice to me is your best shot at making it out of here alive."

The combination of a semi-convincing argument and Vlad's hypnotic gaze and voice got into the heads of the guards, and soon after, all for them sat around a table and one guard handed out cards. They had now removed their helmets and introduced themself. Brian, Steve and Amy were all young and fresh recruits, which was the reason why they had gotten into this miserable position, and for all the viciousness undeath sometimes brought, Vlad felt a little sorry for those poor guys. Being send on what everyone thought to be a suicide mission after barely leaving their training was harsh, especially since they had hoped for a safe, cushy job in the capital, far away from any frontline. And now they sat here, playing cards with someone they should hate, yet found to be more likeable than many of their own superiors.

They played a few rounds, and no one even asked were the Lich King got his coins from, while Vlad himself was again very happy for the pocket dimension. Bets were placed and Vlad found his cards to be rather mediocre, but he could read the faces of his fellow gamblers like open books.

"So tell me, how did you end up in the army?", he asked, both out of curiosity and to distract them somewhat.

Steve was the first to answer, even though he scratched his chin and stared at his cards while speaking. "The watch pays not great, but better than many. For me, it was just a choice regarding the side of the law I wanted to be on. I chose the one were you don't get hanged."

"My mum and my brother died fighting the Horde, and the rest of the family signed up to get payback", Brian said, his voice a little shaky.

Amy raised her bet before answering. "It's a family tradition for me. The second child in each generation joins the military."

"Someone's coming", Vlad hissed as he heard steps on the stairs leading to this floor. For new recruits, Brian, Steve and Amy reacted with remarkable speed, hiding all traces of illegal fraternisation within about ten seconds, and standing at the guard post another two or three seconds later. The person outside was not in a hurry and so it took another seven seconds before the door was opened. The man entering was in his thirties or forties, with short brown hair and a short goatee, and an aura of cold professionalism around him. He sent the guards outside before taking the seat previously occupied by Steve.

Vlad was tempted to rip him to shreds as he was obviously an individual of high standing and knew of Vlad's capture, likely making him one of those behind the bomb in Ulduar, but curiousity managed to keep wrath in check. Barely, and for now.

"You don't look like a regular guard", Vlad said while maintaining his downtrodden facade.

"I'm from SI:7," the man responded in a neutral tone, "Director Mathias Shaw."

"Director? Well, its nice to see I'm valuable enough for such high ranking attention." Vlad smiled sadly. "Although I wonder what you wish to gain from imprisoning me here. I thought the deal I had with your leaders to be satisfactory."

"This deal has fulfilled its purpose."

Vlad didn't have to fake his surprise. "Yogg-Saron is dead? How?"

"After someone unleashed huge amounts of an unknown dark magic in the lower halls and your sucessor, "lord protector" was the title she chose I recall, broke the deal and made accusations of treason, we and the Horde sent the main force in. The lower halls were the site of a massacre, and the way to Yogg-Saron was free. There is some debate on whether Garrosh Hellscream or Lord Fordring was the one to land the fatal blow."

"I guess this leaves me as a loose end, and somehow I doubt that regular negotiations are what you have in mind."

"The Scourge has to be destroyed, there is no way around it. You can choose not to go down with the ship. A single person can be pardoned, but the blight that is the Scourge has to end." The Director didn't hide his dislike for the idea of letting the Lich King get away, but orders were orders, even for spies.

"One pardon won't be enough, Mr Shaw. There are a few people I care about, and while you can accuse me of many things, I won't let those close to me die to save my own skin. And don't really understand why you need to destroy the Scourge. Currently they do have their free will, and have remained in Icecrown."

"They remain a threat. Even with their free will, undead are always a danger and an enemy of the living and the Holy Light."

"I can see that you only care about the first part. Be honest, your position requires way to much pragmatism for religion to be a factor here. As I said, one pardon won't do."

"I am only authorized to pardon you."

"Then I suggest you find someone to authorize you for more", Vlad said and decided to drop the charade. "Your clock is ticking, Mr Shaw. Friendship goes both ways, and my friends will not like this current situation. Tell me, what would happen to your forces in Northrend if Dalaran was erased from the map? Reestablishing supply routes by ship under constant aireal attacks takes a while, doesn't it? Its been a long time since I had to think about this, but living armies need a lot of food in order to avoid starvation, don't they?"

Vlad rose up and stared into Shaw's eyes, noticing with grim satisfaction how the spy turned paler. "You think just because I died for a few days and am currently in your prison, the Scourge just waits doing nothing. No Mr Shaw, I took great care to establish a chain of command and emergency plans. Remember my subjects have their free will, this means they can act on their own initiative. And as I said, friendship goes both ways. By engineering my death and subsequent capture, you have lit the fuse on the powderkeg that is Icecrown, and you have no way to put it out again.I, however, cam defuse this bomb I want to. I suggest you hurry up if you don't want to see your troops in Northrend going up in flame."

Shaw left quite swiftly, and Vlad dropped back into his chair. This had not been his best idea probably, but damn, it felt _good_. Should the spymaster run to try and salvage what he could, this whole affair had been a shot in his own leg. And the personal score would be settled later.

When the three guards entered again, they were suprised to find the Lich King in a downright cheery mood, and soon enough cards were dealt again.

* * *

Pain. Usually a signal of one's own body that harm was inflicted upon it, or that one's own behavior was harmful to the body. When Sintharia awoke, her entire body was filled with pain, and most of it was caused by the second reason, except for her head. Here, it had come from the outside rather than the inside. Exhaustion was also there, in fact, lifting her head of the floor was the extent for her physical abilities for the moment. Through her rather blurry vision, she could see several worried faces looking at her. Her mind was foggy, and she could barely remember the last time she had been awake. Memories of Nefarian and Onyxia dying, something impossible as she had not been there, then Vlad getting incinerated by an armored proto-dragon, but not before killing it in turn. Then nothing but hatred and burning wrath, to short bursts of pain, then darkness and blissful oblivion.

"Where is Vlad? What happened?" She tried to rise up, only to fail rather miserably.

"Vlad is fine. Death doesn't seem to do much to keep him down." Sartharion. "As for what happened, we don't know either."

"What do you mean death doesn't do much?"

The answer came from someone else, but Sintharia's exhausted mind couldn't assign a face to the voice just now. "Vlad did die in Ulduar, but he could still contact Rimefang and told him that he would be able to resurrect himself. However, he was caught in something he called a resurrection trap. The last time he contacted Rimefang he was alive and held prisoner in Stormwind. That was a few hours ago."

"I have to get him out of there", she said and tried to rise again, the attempt failing just like the first one.

"You're not going anywhere unless you want to die a pointless death", Sindragosa said in a tone that allowed no discussion. "Sartharion and I will handle this. You stay are until you have recovered. Since we don't know what you actually did in Ulduar, you might be fine tomorrow."

"Then don't wait here! You have to act before anything happens!"

The two left, leaving Nalice, Theralion and Valiona to watch over her.

"This leaves us with another pair of issues to adress", Sartharion said as they reached the courtyard. "How do get to Stormwind, and how to we treat von Carstein's capture? Do we go to war against the Alliance in Northrend?"

"Are already able to strike when necessary. I have sent Rimefang and Lana'thel to Dalaran as long as the treaty still holds some value. We might be able to turn the Horde on our side if we play our cards right. As for getting to Stormwind, that's what I don't know. The last time I tried to teleport was when I was still breathing."

"I might be able to assist you with that problem", said a voice both of them had hoped to never hear again. They turned around and indeed, Vakarthys stood there on one of the walls, with the same psychotic smile as nearly always. "You see, my master wants to see how you handle this current issue, and since your ability to travel long distances is not in question, I can bring you to Stormwind."

There was not much of choice and so assumed mortal form and accepted. Vakarthys did as promised, and after a brief flash of light, they stood in the cellar of an abandoned house in the city.

"This is your plan, so you enact it. I'll stay here and wait for your return."

Seeing how arguing with this obvious madman was pointless, Sartharion and Sindragosa took the stairs and stepped into the streets of Stormwind, wondering what would be the best way to free von Carstein. A direct surprise on the keep might be sucessful, but taking such a risk should be a last resort option. They would also need an escape plan that didn't rely on an unstable maniac to function.

"Capturing von Carstein must have been ordered or at least authorized by someone of great importance. If brute force doesn't work, we need to combine our abilities with guile." Sartharion thought about the human leadership. "Stormwind is ruled by a king, isn't it? So the king could order to release von Carstein. If we find a way to force the king to do so, this might work out with a low risk for us. We would make enemies for life, but they could not do much right now."

Sindragosa considered the idea for a moment before a murderous grin appeared on her pretty face. "You are right, and I know how we could gain the leverage we need. Follow me."

They changed direction, heading into the worse parts of the city. Sindragosa stopped at the door of another seemingly abandoned house and knocked in a particular way, and the door was opened, revealing an ordinary looking person, but Sartharion knew the behavior of hidden cultists well enough to recognize it if it was shown in front of his eyes.

Sindragosa whispered a few questions in a language Sartharion didn't know, then turned around with a triumphant grin. "It seems the king's son has a heart for the poor, and often spends his time in chapels in the poorer districts. His carriage was seen about an hour ago and we should be able to find him. All we need to do is check the local places of worship."

A simple spell took care of the scouting, and the carriage was swiftly found. Of course a prince would have a few guards, but they were meant to protect him against hidden knifes and with the prince being so popular, largely ceremonial.

Sartharion went to handle the carriage, another simple spell sending the driver and the single guard into a deep slumber. Sartharion pushed the driver's body of the seat and took the reins, ready to race off when the time came.

Sindragosa simply walked into the chapel, ignoring the unpleasent feeling of entering a blessed building. There were many of the poorer inhabitants of the city inside, and while they were unable to tell her true nature, the collision of the blessed air and unholy aura of cold was enough to create a vague feeling of dread and wrongness. The prince stood in front of the altar, a guard on each side, and could not miss how the people tried to get away from the pale woman in the blue dress, and his skills told him a lot more about her true self and her power.

This was a perfect opportunity for a suitably dramatic action. Materialising her favourite weapon for humanoids, a Val'kyr halberd, in her hands, Sindragosa stepped forward, ice spreading on the floor around her

"Prince Anduin Wrynn, I need you to come with me! Do so without a fight and you will not be hurt!"

She could she his fear on his face, the realisation that his chances in a confrontation were slim at best. His guards took positions and drew their weapons while the commoners fled.

"Order your men to stand down. You know they would achieve nothing except their end."

"She is right", the prince said, sounding calm and determined in spite of his fear. "I will come with you if you promise not to harm anyone."

Sindragosa nodded. "As long as they don't get in my way, they have nothing to fear."

The prince followed her outside, his guards watching in shock. Sindragosa pushed the prince into the carriage before climbing in.

"Do you have something to identify you? A signed ring or something like that?"

The prince didn't answer, instead, he simply removed a ring from his hand and gave it to her. Sindragosa cast another spell to materialize a letter and placed the ring in the envelope before throwing it out of the window.

"We're done!", she yelled, and the carriage began to move. For such a heavy vehicle, it quickly reached an impressive speed.

"Would you please tell me what this is about?" The prince still remained for some his age in his current position.

"Someone we care about is being held prisoner by someone with a lot of influence in the Alliance. We thought blackmailing your father to be a better choice than fitting our way through the keep. We have no problem with you as a person and if things go as planned, no one needs to get hurt."

The rest of the murderously fast ride was spend in silence, and the prince left the vehicle on his own. The abandoned house was still as they had left it, and Vakarthys was still waiting in the basement. The prince flinched upon feeling the even worse aura of evil he emitted, but didn't ask any questions. Another swift teleportation moved them to another abandoned cellar somewhere else in the city, and how the waiting would begin.

* * *

This time the players got their warning a lot earlier, and still, they hurried a lot more, for they recognized the voice shouting outside as the one of none other than Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind. Vlad merely rose his head, pretending not to be suprised.

 _I knew they were going to get me out of here if I don't do so alone, but damn, that was fast, and if the king is so furious, it must have been spectacular._

Indeed, the scarred face of the king was red with anger as he marched in, a hand already wrapped around the hilt of his blade, the other one holding a letter. Behind him was the target of his previous shouting, a very nervous looking Director Shaw. In spite of the danger this posed, Vlad kept an icy calm, although he ready his gear from his pocket dimension and was prepared to take the king down if necessary. But no matter how it went, this whole affair promised to be interesting.

"Did you know of this?", the kind yelled and smashed the letter on the table, with enough force to cause cracks to appear in the wood.

Very carefully, Vlad picked up the letter and read it. The handwriting was very clean, and he had not seen it before.

 _To King Varian Wrynn,_

 _I hereby demand the immidiate release of_

 _Lich King Vlad von Carstein. To ensure your_

 _compliance, your son is in my custody._

 _Prisoner exchange will happen at dusk today_

 _on the wall above the northern gate. Be there_

 _if you want your son back alive._

 _Lady Sindragosa of Icecrown, acting Lord Protector of the Scourge_

There was also a second letter detailing conditions for the exchange, such as removing the cannons from the nearby towers, warning the king not to bring substantial forces with him, and similar details.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Wrynn had lowered his voice now, but his rage obvious rage got visibly worse every moment.

"No. I knew my allies would come to free me, but I expected them to do so in a much more violent and spectacular way. This is not a method they would normally use."

"If anything happens to my son..."

"I better kill myself quickly before you do so over the next two weeks, I get it. You son doesn't need you raging, he needs you calm and collected."

Vlad saw the questioning looks he got from everyone. "What? It's true, and it is in my interest that this works out without a bloodbath or a flaming inferno."

Ten minutes before dusk, Vlad was brought to the wall. Varian Wrynn would be accompanied by Director Shaw Tirion Fordring and Jaina Proudmoore, who had arrived via portal from Dalaran. Both were less then thrilled about the situation and even less about the role they had to play now, with Proudmoore even throwing a few apologetic looks to Vlad. If long term diplomacy had ever had a chance, this chance was now buried. It didn't matter. Rimefang should have arrived in Dalaran by now, and once his mission was sucessful, the attack could begin. The war in Northrend would be short and brutal, and the Alliance might even collapse afterwards. A promising future was lying ahead, they only had to reach for it.

* * *

Dutiful work could often mean doing things you really didn't want to do. In the current case, this meant talking to Sylvanas Windrunner in person, which in turn made it necessary to travel into enemy territory. Dalaran was bad enough, but Undercity too was a place Rimefang would avoid like a living being would avoid the plague if he could. But Windrunner had left Dalaran and might not return soon, and his orders were clear. So Rimefang had stated the diplomatic purpose of his mission and had been escorted through the portal to the capital of the Forsaken.

The slimy corridors were large enough for him to stay in his true form, but only barely. Not that this would improve his odds in a meaningful way if things went south, but if he died here, he would be brought back soon. Or at least he hoped so. The Forsaken surounding him knew they would not have such an easy way out, and while they kept a certain distance, their hands were never far from their weapons. Actually, they were mostly clutched around the hilts of said weapons, but there was nothing Rimefang could do about that. When Proudmoore had come to Icecrown, everyone there had also been ready to put her down if she had done anything suspicious.

All around, various, mostly undead members of the Horde went about their daily business, although the frostwyrm got his share of hateful stares and muttered curse. Rimefang wondered how much damage he would be able to cause before he went down. A breath weapon was a very effective weapon in closed spaces, but the abdominations were the same as those used by the Scourge and he knew how resistant they were to damage. In the end, he could not answer the question and simply hoped to make it through this wjthout putting any of these theoretic thoughts to the test.

The way through these stinking tunnels seemed to take an eternity, and it was one of the moments were his keen senses were something Rimefang thoroughly despised. To his relieve, the royal quarter was a lot better, even with disgust was now mostly replaced by fear. He wanted to take a deep breath, but his physiology prevented him from using such an easy method to calm down. While his state truly was a blessing at times, its origins as a curse did show from time to time.

As he entered the study of the Banshee Queen, Rimefang was reminded again why smart people feared Windrunner. She was so frail on the physical side, a single good hit would be all Rimefang needed to take her down, but a single look at her told him that he would not be able to land a blow before being shot to bits. Still, his diplomatic status had protected him the entire way and might be enough to survive this.

"Your Majesty." Rimefang bowed his head until his horns nearly touched the stone floor.

"Rise and speak your words." Her voice was cold and formal, but suprisingly lacked much hostility.

"Von Carstein sends his regards", Rimefang saw how Windrunner rose an eyebrow at his informal choice of words, but he ignored it, "and asks you to think of your meeting with him in Dalaran. His exact words, which he asked me to quote, were: "Rimefang, tell Lady Windrunner that if she makes sure the Scourge gets accepted as a trustworthy ally of the Horde, she gets her soul back." Von Carstein also vows to honor such an alliance as slow as this is mutual."

Rimefang kept his eyes on Windrunner, determined to get a shot off before she obliterated him. Yet no magical arrows were fired at him. Windrunner seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"When can the Lich King deliver his part of the bargain?", she asked, staring right through Rimefang at a scene far away and many years ago.

"Within a week, I think. He only needs to meet you in person. Although he will ask for some truth of you upholding your part of the deal before he will do anything."

"Tell von Carstein that he doesn't have much time. Warchief Thrall will announce hia retirement in a few days, and his sucessor will probably be Garrosh Hellscream." There was no need to say why this would be the end for any pact, and Windrunner's tone made her opinion for the orc general very clear.

Rimefang left as as swift as he could while maintaining his dignity, already relaying the news back to von Carstein. Garrosh becoming the next Warchief was bad and made things more urgent, but the future was still rather promising. And if this failed, the Scourge would still not be alone. Malygos would not leave his kin alone, even if they were undead. When things got really bloody, the flight would be united, mortals be damned. Perhaps Malygos could even influence the Wyrmrest Accord to stay neutral, given that all attacks on them had stopped after von Carstein had taken over and had even released Dreamwalker.

* * *

The wall was empty and the gate closed as the small group made their way to the meeting point. The other group had waited in one of the now empty towers, and Vlad could see both Sartharion and Sindragosa in their mortal forms, along with a young blonde man who had to be Anduin Wrynn. As the king arrived, Sartharion changed into his true form and spread his wings, ready to take of as soon as possible. Currently, all weapons were sheathed and the conflict limited to hateful glares, but one wrong move and this would end in a violent mess. As it stood, Vlad would bet on his side, but he didn't want to take the chance with Fordring. The Ashbringer had such an aura of holiness around it that the blade might even be able to overpower his ring, and Vlad didn't want to risk true death, especially since Azarneth was nowhere near.

Words were neither needed nor wanted, and Vlad was the one to take the first step. A nod from Sindragosa later the prince began to move as well. As he walked, Vlad summoned his armor and Frostmourne, but took care not to make any aggressive movements. Even if his side held the advantage, the Alliance probably had an ace up their sleeve, and they would receive backup very soon if fighting broke out here.

Under the red light of the sinking sun, the prince and the Lich King met in the middle between the two groups, on top of the northern gate, one triumphant in full plate armor and with a blade at his side, one just happy to be alive and unharmed, both pale for drastically different reasons. In a way, Vlad felt pity for the prince. He had done nothing against the Scourge as far as Vlad knew, and it had not been his fault that his father gave men like Shaw authority. The king however would certainly be a problem in the future, Vlad could feel the rage-filled stare through the backplate of his armor. But this was a concern for the future. If the renewed Northrend campaign went well, this problem would be solved, on way or another.

Vlad nodded towards the young man. "My apologies for you getting dragged into this. If me ever meet again, I hope it will be under more positive circumstances."

"Thanks I guess."

Maybe the younger Wrynn wanted to say something else, yet didn't know how. And he would not get a chance to think about it. A shockwave went through the ground, a grumbling sound like an earthquake or a volcano, and many windows in the city shattered. Then a short silence, the classic calm before the storm.

And then, with a sound like a world breaking apart, a second sun rose in the south.


	22. Chapter 21

It rose in cloud of black smoke and the shock wave it sends out laid waste to vast swathes of land, turning everything it reached to dust and ash. Shattered trees and other debris were hurled hundreds of meters up in the air. Vlad didn't wait for the disaster to come any closer, instead dashing over to Sartharion. The shock wave of the distant explosion reached the city and only a swift change into mist form prevented Vlad from falling of the wall. Sindragosa simply froze herself to the wall, and Sartharion spread his wings in order to keep his balance. Returning to his usual form, Vlad could see something that might have made him reconsider his life choices: The giant ball of fire was moving. And not in the way a massive explosion usually move, it was moving towards the city. And things got even worse. There was a shadow inside the inferno, and this shadow had wings and was using them. And given the scope of the flaming cloud, this shadow was by far the largest being Vlad had ever seen, and if its growth was any indication, it was much faster than such a creature had any right to be. His unbeating heart was filled with dread, knowing all too well that his small group would not stand much of chance against such a monster. Caution was the better part of courage this time, and there was little reason stay here anyway. Of course the locals saw this in a different light, but Vlad didn't care about them.

However, a few of them still had faith in the people of Azeroth, in spite of the last events. "Stay here! This is a threat to all of us, and we have to fight it together!" Vlad could admire Proudmoore's idealism and her determination to keep it, but it seemed to make her lose contact with reality from time to time. Probably just a short term effect of the shock. A glance to Sindragosa and Sartharion told him that they liked the idea even less than he did. "I'm not going to defend the place where we were being held prisoner by a traitor." Vlad through another glance at the massive cloud of fire heading for the city. "I would advise you to run as long as you can. No way we're staying here." He turned back to Sartharion and Sindragosa. "Let's get out of here before this thing gets here." "Jump on!", Sartharion answered and Vlad did it he was told. Sarthation jumped into the air, and Sindragosa followed suit.

The cloud of fire was now almost at the halfway point between its point of origin and the city and was getting even faster by the moment. The shadow inside the fire was flapping its wings furiously, spreading the flames in an even larger radius. Vlad didn't really know what it was, but his companions did. Seeing flaming shadow that could only be Deathwing approaching, Sindragosa reacted on instinct. She remembered what Deathwing had done to her flight, her death by his claw, and she would not suffer it again. Her instinct overruled her caution and insecurity as she began the teleportation spell, knowing that even a failed spell leaving them hundreds of miles from the target was better than being in Deathwing's path once he arrived. The flash of the teleportation engulfed Vlad with no warning, and a moment later he felt the familiar cold of Northrend all around, with the addition of a strange, orderly aura of magic in the background. He blinked a few times. Emergency teleportation, useful as it might be, made him feel sick.

As his vision cleared, the small group was surrounded by several blue dragons with expressions ranging from surprise to wrath and some fear. "Damn it, calm down!" Sindragosa spoke in a tone like that of an angry grandmother scolding misbehaving children, and Vlad struggled not to laugh as he saw how most of the blue dragons reacted in the way children were expected to in such a situation. A short glance to the side told him that Sartharion thought the same. "What are you doing here?" The question came from the one blue dragon who had maintained his composure. "Deathwing is back." The statement made their onlookers shiver in fear, as it was obvious that this was not a terrible attempted joke. "We escaped from Storming, and we know news we bring are rather grim. But let's not talk about this out here in the snow. This affects all of us, and we need a solution soon." Arygos saw how serious she was, and undead or not, she was still a part of the flight. His opinion of the Lich King and Sartharion was a lot worse, but they had not attacked and doing so in the nexus was downright suicidal anyway. So they would be allowed in under the strictest supervision. Vlad was quite impressed upon seeing Malygos, the Spellweaver, but there was no time for formal introductions. Sindragosa filled him and Arygos in, and Vlad was certain that they would have gotten pale if their scales would allow this. "All your troops will be ready to mobilize by the end of tomorrow. Until we know where Deathwing is headed, we will stay here and wait. If you find out where he will be, tell us and we will do anything in our power to take them down. I will inform the other flights of this development. Prepare yourself both for a meeting with Deathwing and a meeting at the Wyrmrest Temple." Given how strongly the owners of the temple disliked the undead, Vlad was not really sure which of those two he feared most.

* * *

The rapid changes of the last few weeks had already caused a lot of concern in the members of the Wyrmrest Accord, and it got worse by the day. The blue flight had withdrawn completely from the accord, although they stated the intention to support the others should they be attacked from the outside. At the same day, the blue flight had officially stated to be allied to the Scourge and condemned all action against the undead in Northrend. At first, many had thought that Malygos had lost his mind completely, but the speech he had delivered later seemed remarkably sane for its contents. Since the frostwyrms of the Scourge had gotten their free will back, Malygos considered them to be part of his flight, undead or not. And the few undead dragons who had been part of the other flights stayed in Ice crown on their own choice, fearing their former relatives would never accept undead in their mids. This had obviously sparked another debate on whether Maligns was right and if the supposed free will could be faked by the Lich King's control. After all, von Capstan seemed to be a lot more subtle than Arthas. The events in Ulduar had been a source of both joy and more controversy. Many were now of the opinion that they should have aided in the assault, but the true worry arose from the still unsolved mystery of the huge amounts of dark magic unleashed in the lower halls. The first few attempts investigate the matter had produced a witness claiming to have seen a group of frostwyrms and a black dragon carrying something unidentifiable to Naxxramas. Since the former sanctum warden Sartharion had admitted joining the Scourge, the question rose whether he was alone in doing so, and how the blue flight could tolerate his presence and cooperation.

The dark magic itself had also had some traces of a black dragon in it, but the outburst in Ulduar had been entirely beyond the abilities of any living and most dead member of the corrupted flight. Even an aspect would have struggled to wield such power for the amount of time its use in Ulduar lasted, and how such power could be found was a different question. It had shown no marks of the Burning Legion or the other old gods, even though test had made clear that it was uncomfortably close to fel magic in various aspects. Still, only very few beings on Azeroth could have had even a chance of surviving its use on such a scale, and the number of those beings outside of the Wyrmrest Temple had to be single digit.

But what if the one responsible was not from Azeroth? There were already enough theories about von Carstein coming from another world, so what if he had not arrived alone, or had been followed? Reports from Korialstrasz in Dalaran included that there was at least one dark, otherworldly presence lurking in the city, one perhaps tied to the gruesome murder of a local priest. The same report also mentioned another, much friendlier, but well concealed presence. Could it be that two warring factions from another world had come to Azeroth and now fought here? Not the most absurd theory someone could come up with, but certainly a worrying one. The shock wave caused by Deathwing shook even the mighty temple, and in this very moment, everyone inside realized that no matter which answer was correct, the one responsible would be the lesser evil for now.

* * *

The Headtaker had one another victory, bringing back loot and glory and gaining more fame among the cowards and traitors that lead so much of this skaven host. Ikits anger had long turned into a fierce determination to show those spineless traitors how the blessing of the Great Horned Rat looked like. Then they would cover before his endless genius and unimaginable power! Soon, the Storm Sky would rise and with it, Ikit Claw would turn all enemies of Skavendom to ash and claim all the warpstone in this world, no matter were the greedy and jealous things in this world were hiding it!

A few more tests would be required before it was fully ready to be used, but there was no problem letting Queek decimate the enemy before his project was revealed. Once that happened, there would be the time for an unfortunate incident of friendly fire, something the council knew would happen from time to time in a war, or in peace. The question of the target was also still open. Attacking the burrow of the beard-things from the air would be pointless, so he would need to pick something else. A human-thing settlement or something like that.

When the ground began to shake and a gargantuan cloud of fire rose on the horizon, Ikit Claw was one of the very few beings who stared into the flames without even a hint of fear. Instead, he could only marvel at the magnificent destruction, and his future became clear: Whatever power made this happen, Ikit would find it and it would belong to him and him alone. The machines who would be able to create with it would be able to shape the very foundations of the world to his will!

* * *

Another pair of eyes with this lack of fear now materialized on the wall of Stormwind. Vakarthys had waited in the forest outside, ready to teleport the Lich King and company back to Icecrown, but that was irrelevant now. He had hated this mission in the beginning, but this latest turn of events was proof that this world could be interesting at times. Finally, a foe worthy of his attention had risen, and if there was one thing Vakarthys loved, it was good old scrap. He couldn't care less for Stormwind or the people living inside, but this was a place as good as any other to fight.

But for all his love for fighting, Vakarthys was not the kind of fool who simply charged an unknown enemy head on. He would test his enemy's strength before committing himself to a fight. A glance to the side told him that the mortal group who had brought von Carstein here had indeed seen him, but this was also irrelevant. He focused on the shadow within the flames, ignoring the panic on the nearby streets. However, while he simply ignored the mortals close to him, this was not mutual. The human mage, Proudmoore, recognized him. Not exactly difficult has Vakarthys looked the same as the last time they had met, but a worried glance was not the end of it.

"What are you doing here?" Proudmoore readied some kind of frost spell, and the old paladin turned around to face Vakarthys as well, while the Wrynns left, yelling orders at various guards.

"I here for the fun." Vakarthys grinned and gestured towards the approaching disaster. "There should be enough for all of us who want a piece." Of course the old paladin felt his aura and drew his weapon, pointing the burning blade at Vakarthys while slowly advancing towards him.

"Are you serious? You don't really think I am your most serious problem in this moment, do you? Stay away from me, and you might not die this day. I just want a good fight and I will get one from this fellow over there. If you are certain that you want to be another one of many dead bodies, go ahead. I'll make it quick."

The paladin rose an eyebrow as well as his sword, but the aura of dark power around Vakarthys made the chances in a duel pretty obvious, even with Proudmoore involved. And any distraction might be fatal once the fire reached the city. If they wanted a taste of his power, Vakarthys would not deny it to them. But he had more important and entertaining things to do now. Ignoring the two, he teleported on top of one of the tower of the castle in the city center.

 ** _Not now, not here. Take a shot if you want but don't try to finish this now._ **

The voice of his master could always reach him when necessary, and he knew when his master was serious. If his master wanted to shape the future in a certain way, for whatever reason, Vakarthys knew better than to ignore a direct order. But he would use the freedom his was given to its fullest extent. Nothing would prevent him from having a little fun. He studied Deathwing with the calm, cold eyes only those without fear could have so near to the gargantuan monster, taking care to notice how the metal plates were attached to the burning flesh. His master had allowed him one shot and he would make that shot count. If Deathwing were to fall in one strike, so be it. If Deathwing were to fall to one shot, he was not worthy of his master's attention. These plates he saw were both a strength and a weakness, as was the rage fueling the mad aspect's rampage. Those lost within such rage were nearly immune to the effects of pain and exhaustion, but would not fight smart and would recognize dangers far too late.

 _Calmness and sanity do have their advantages. There is a time to go berserk, but the beginning of your fight is not the right one._

And while someone could make a case for Vakarthys being a certain kind of insane, he was very calm indeed. His own burning fury was rarely unleashed, and only when its benefits would more than compensate for its drawbacks. Against a barely known foe of great power, rationality was the right course of action for now. Deathwing could certainly cause quite a bit of damage, spectacularly demonstrated by the swift and utter annihilation of a nearby city park via a massive fireball. But his anger made the aspect blind to many of the small details in his field of view, and a human sized being on top of a tower was such a detail in a large city. So while Deathwing was able to sense how Vakarthys prepared to strike, he did not find the location of his foe in time. Vakarthys gathered more of his own power, more than he had used on any occasion on this world before, carefully aimed at the center of one of plates covering Deathwing's right side, took a deep breath and set his magic free.

A bolt of raw magical force, colored like fresh blood, was fired from one of the towers of Stormwind Castle. And when it hit, it managed to do what no magic had done in years: It hurt Deathwing in a meaningful way. The elementium plate it hit shattered, sending fragments of the enchanted metal flying in all directions, many burying themselves deeply in Deathwing's mutated flesh and charred bones. This kind of hit could not be ignored, even by a raging maniac. With a roar of both pain and the insane anger of a megalomaniac reminded of his own vulnerability, Deathwing took a deep breath before firing back, turning the tower from which the bolt came to molten slag. The gunpowder stored inside the building ignited and added to the carnage, but Deathwing had already forgotten about it. Such a being could not imagine anything surviving its wrath, and in most cases, that would be an accurate assumption. But not in this one. Vakarthys had never found fire to be anything but comfortable, even if it was hot enough to make stone was liquid as water. The explosion could be a concern in theory, but Vakarthys had shrugged of worse. The cloud of smoke provided the cover for his next teleportation. So Deathwing was about as tough as he looked, maybe even tougher, but this didn't matter. What mattered was that Vakarthys knew it, and how he would use this.

Many of the panicked citizens of Stormwind saw the red bolt and its effect, but neither they nor the curious authorities found any hint regarding the identity of the one person to stand up to Deathwing. None of the wizards in the city were missing, yet someone had indeed wounded the beast. If this person were to ever return to Stormwind and prove his or her identity, the city would have its new hero. Yet Vakarthys had had his fun, so he withdrew with another teleportation as the flaming ruin of the tower collapsed. This would be an interesting fight for the future indeed. From a secure position a few miles away, he watched as the corrupted aspect continued his burning flight over the lands, ignoring the city. The wound in his side should have crippled any living being with the inflicted pain alone, with the internal injuries and massive blood loss ensuring a swift end of the victim, but Deathwing merely roared and flew on, although slower than before.

 _Such a wasted opportunity. He could have roasted the entire city. Well, better to have a foolish enemy than a clever and reasonable one. All in all, not bad for one day._

What could Dahak want with this maniac? Vakarthys was certain that Deathwing's corruption was too deep to be removed and his old mind too long gone for him to be recruited, and killing him could have been done here and now. The position of his end was unimportant. Unless... Well, it would make sense and might be worth it, if things were arranged correctly... With another spell, Vakarthys disappeared without a trace. He had to inquire about a few things.

* * *

Sintharia paced up and down in the war room, unwilling to sit down yet unable to leave. Vlad had been freed and had reported being in the nexus currently, and save for now. But the news of Deathwing returning filled her mind with memories she had hoped to forget, memories which made her want to cry while ripping everything in reach to shreds. She wanted her vengeance, and she would make sure it happened. But even more important than avenging all the wrongs of the past was the promise of the future, a golden future once anyone standing in its way was dealt with. The cult of the damned had aquired scales from both Nefarian and Onyxia, and soon a ritual to bring them back could begin. Soon, but so far from soon enough. And yet she was unable to accelerate the necessary steps due to her own weakness. She could stand, walk and even fly, but most of her magical abilities were unusable for now, and would probably stay like that for a while. Perhaps she could speed up her recovery somehow, but right now all she could do was to give out orders to the Scourge in Icecrown. She would have to remain here until her strength had returned, forced to stay both by self-preservation instinct and Nalice, who would under no circumstances allow her to leave before she deemed her fit to do so. Still, the question of how she had gotten the powers she had used in Ulduar remained unanswered. It had not been her own, this much was obvious, and ever since she had regained her consciousness, there was a strange feeling at the edge of her own magical aura, something that had not been there earlier. With nothing else she could do for now, she sat down in a meditative position and closed her eyes, forcing her attention on the unknown hint of magic, ready to cut the connection of instantly if it proved to be dangerous.

Thinking of this possibility, caution was indeed advised, and so a few minutes later, Nalice, Deathwisper, Gothik and the twin Val'kyr were in the same room to watch over her, with Theralion and Valiona still guarding the vault below the citadel. As soon as she closed her eyes again, she could feel how something had reacted to her previous examination. Someone tried to contact her telepathically, and after taking another deep breath and reminded herself that she was not alone, Sintharia answered the call. The mind she felt was ancient, and she could sense that this mind was truly evil in a classical way, vicious and hungry beyond measure. Still, this didn't necessarily mean anything evil would be directed against her.

 _ **Hello there, little one.**_ A male voice shaped from an inferno, deep and frightening for any living and most dead beings, and it carried all the arrogance of someone who knew the effect of his voice all too well and was proud of it.

 _Greetings_ , she responded, unsure how to address this other mind correctly.

 _ **Don't worry about formalities, you will learn them in time. For now, let's conduct this meeting in a more appropriate way.**_

The view in her mind shifted from the weave of the spell to more detailed scene, like a dream or a vision, and not a quiet and peaceful one. Inside this vision, Sintharia stood in a volcanic hellscape, and in front of her was an image of the other mind, a cloud of shifting darkness that revealed only two large, glowing red eyes. It was an awfully melodramatic way of presenting oneself, but Sintharia knew better than to show such an opinion to a creature of such obvious power, let alone voice it. Great power often brought a sense of grandeur, a fact she was aware of, but sometimes this sense was not entirely out of proportion.

"Who are you? And why his there a hint of your presence in my mind?"

 ** _"_ My name is Dahak, and I'm the reason you are here. One of my agents, Azarneth, brought you back into the world of the living. _"_**

"You are Azarneth's master? That means Vakarthys serves you too, right."

Dahak chuckled, a sound like bones rattling in a crypt. " **Smart little one. Yes, Vakarthys serves me. To answer your second question, you asked me into your mind. In Ulduar, you used the connection we share since Azarneth used his and my power for your resurrection to reach for my power, and I granted it to you."**

"Why?"

 ** _"_ Because impressed me before, and your wrath amused me. It was very entertaining to see you slaughter your way through the lower halls, leaving hundreds if not thousands of dead in your wake. It truly was a delicious sight to watch. _"_**

Sintharia did not like hearing this, and she got the feeling that she didn't like Dahak much at all. Still, telling him this was asking for a catastrophe. "Could you give me this power again?" She hoped her faked awe and enthusiasm would mask her growing worry and dislike.

 ** _"_ Perhaps. But you would have to do something in return, some great feat of destruction against those who stand in my way. Earn my favor, and all the might you want will be yours**. **"** Before Sintharia was done considering her answer or next question, a contact in the physical world tore her back into it.

"What happened?" Nalice seemed to be very excited. "It the guards at the Wrathgate. They say Sabellian and a few others are waiting outside." Sintharia nearly fainted from hearing this. "Sabellian is alive? Let them in!" Her voice was shaky, and she didn't dare for to hope for this to be true, fearing the disappointment. It had been such a long time since she had seen any of her children.

Yet despite not having seen him for so long, there was no doubt about it. Sabellian was truly alive, and was truly here. She rushed towards him and hugged him. Pure instinct made him prepare to strike, fearing an attack, but when he realized the lack of hostile intent, he dropped his defense and hugged her back, the remnants of a family reunited again. Words were unnecessary, and for this small span of time, the shadows of war and death were pushed back into the darkest of their respective minds, and all felt well for this short, wonderful moment. It would not last, but both knew that they would do nearly everything to make such a moment happen again, and even more to make it last. In the light of such joy, facing the dangers of the future was a small price to pay.

"Our family will be reunited soon, my son. It has taken long enough and the rest of the way will be arduous and filled with danger, but we will prevail. We have allies and powerful, loyal friends. With the full might of the Scourge backing our own strength, we will not fail. Not even death will stand in our way for long." Sabellian did not dare to hope for this to be true, but he didn't try to refute these claims either. They were too beautiful to meet such an end. And when he still began to think about it, his mother was in a powerful position, and she seemed to neither lying nor insane. Which in turn meant that her words had at least a chance to be true. And this chance was indeed worth nearly any price. To see his family reunited without madness was a dream that had been far beyond the realm of possibility, and now it might actually come true.

The Scourge high command was polite enough to watch the family reunion in silence. The fear of being turned to ash for ruining this moment did obviously not matter for this decision at all, and they all had their own busy minds. They had been informed of the upcoming pact with the Horde, and now von Carstein send a message about an upcoming meeting at the Wyrmrest Temple. It caused a lot of concern to them, but since they had no other options to get more allies, they accepted it. The Scourge could not be picky with its allies for now.

* * *

Everything went according to plan so far, and the future didn't look back. Still, thousands of years of experience in planing and enacting various dark schemes had told Dahak never to trust a situation that appeared to be fine. It was always better to have a second agent in place and another iron in the fire. One could never know when and how things could or would go south, and so it was vital to be able to react whenever something took a turn for the worse. So Dahak was more than willing to invest in an alternative. His own agents were mostly busy elsewhere, and there was no reason not to make use of other individuals with the right mindset and skills. Turning down promising recruits was an utter waste of precious resources. In spite of his divinity, bringing someone back from the realm of the dead was not too easy, as Dahak would usually send people there rather than the other way around. But a true god didn't need for something to be easy to so anyway. This was one of freedoms the gods had within and outside the rules of reality.

So he put his powers to use again, dragging back someone from the other side, someone who could be put to good use. The process took a while, turning magical power into matter and then shaping it into a form able to support life and fit for slaughter. The one he brought back had not been trustworthy or mentally stable in life, but a few years in the realm beyond could work wonders on a young mind. And if not, Dahak could always put him back where he found him. The first lesson about recruiting was always been able to put any traitors down. With the physical form finished, Dahak reached out to spirit supposed to fill it. The spirit did try to put up a fight, but doing so was futile. After just a few moments, the previously lifeless husk opened its eyes. The attempt to resist the resurrection had been the first hint, and it was a correct one was the newly awoken creature charged at Dahak, fangs and claws coated in its own dark magic.

The guards in the room could have stopped the attacker on the spot, but they knew their master preferred to handle such situations personally. Dahak didn't even rise up from his throne, instead, he simply backhanded his attacker, sending set attacker flying into the wall of the cavern. The attacker, a twilight dragon named Dargonax, had been one of the very first of his kind. He had died the same time one of Azarneth's recruits in what had basically been a mutual kill. The blow he had taken seemed to have knocked some resemblance of common sense into him.

 _ **"Listen up, whelp, if you liked your previous home, I will send you rigjt back there. But if you do value a conscious existence, you will acknowledge that you owe it to me. So serve me or die again. Choose wisely, and choose swiftly."**_ Again, this kind of proposal worked as well as it nearly always did, backed up by terror Dahak would inspire in every non-divine being. Dargonax slowly nodded, his inexperienced mind still trying to fully grasp the rapid change of circumstances.


	23. Chapter 22

AN: Sorry for the delay, but I had a lot of class tests in the last two weeks, have a cold, and someone borrowed me all three parts of _Ravenor._ Spelling might be a problem again.

* * *

Director Shaw was not particularly amused. In fact, if he had been a little more angry, he would be frothing at the mouth. He and Borgwen had put the Lich King in the hands of the Alliance, and not even a full day after his resurrection, von Carstein was free again. Pressed free after his henchmen had captured Prince Anduin. How in the name of the Holy Light had they gotten into Stormwind so soon? The Lich King had been dead for about to days before he returned to the world of the living, and that was the point at which he could have known his location. Even if the Helm of Domination allowed him to tell his minions instantly, how had they gotten to the prince in time? Of course the cultists would have tracked him, but the Scourge had never been able to teleport around Azeroth before, and teleporting into the city should be impossible for anyone who didn't know how to pass through the defenses.

And things had gotten even worse. Deathwing's assault had caused substantial damage to his city, and now the king expected him to find a way to deal with this threat, soon. The king was still torn by rage, and Shaw was the closest target. As if he was responsible for the Scourge being able to teleport around.

The other question was who had attacked Deathwing in Stormwind. The shot fired at the insane aspect had been seen by thousands, and know everyone wondered who had been insane enough to stand alone against the monster, and who had been powerful enough to actual wound the beast with a single spell. Not many people would be able to hurt Deathwing at all, and shattering elementium plates was almost impossible without an artillery battery firing at once. Yet this spell had wounded the Destroyer, which would be a reason to hope if the caster had been known. No mage he knew who could be responsible was missing, and all of them had denied shooting Deathwing, with absolutely no reason to lie about it. No one would see this as anything except for the heroism it was. So the caster was not part of the Alliance, which made him a potential threat. And a threat able to wound Deathwing was a headache for SI 7 and therefore for Mathias Shaw.

Some of his best investigators were already working on this case, agents who could follow the week old magical track of a cocealed demon through a swamp. Even so the chances to find something were not very good, but the best chances SI 7 would be able toget. Shaw could only place his trust in these agents. If they failed, he could kiss his post goodbye. And if that happened, everything he had worked for in the last years would be lost, all sacrifices for nothing. Varian Wrynn was a noble king, but his mindset was unsuited for these dark times. All would be fine if he had been a mere general or something similar, but a king unfit to lead was a danger that had to be removed. If there was any way to avoid this tragedy, but Wrynn would not step down voluntarily, making a more permanent solution an unfortunate necessity. The young Anduin would be shaped into a good archbishop, and Shaw had sufficient trust in his ability to convince him into handing over the crown to Hubert. Under Hubert, the Alliance would finally be in the position to use any and all necessary means to deal with its enemies both external and internal. It was the only way.

Deathwing was the first on the list, followed by the Scourge and Wrynn. With those out of the way, the Horde would be next, and within just a few years, the Alliance would rule in peace and prosperity over all of Azeroth. It was a future worth any sacrifice, no matter how painful it was. For the greater good, the individual might have to bleed occasionally.

His attempts to justify his treacherous plans to his own concience were interrupted by a knock at the door of his office. Not waiting for a response, a messenger barged in, grasping for breath and handing a scroll over to Shaw. Knowing that no one would dare to enter his office uninvited without a good reason, Shaw opened the letter without commenting on the breach of protocol.

 _News from whisper. Necrophilia confirmed, one or two weeks from now._

It was the handwriting of one of his best and loyal spies, and Shaw felt how all blood left his face, only for it to come back in force as shock turned to anger. So the Horde would be going to bed with the Scourge! Of course these savages would not miss a chance like that! He had to act now, before they managed to actually united their forces, for if they did, they would win this war before it had even started.

But how could the Scourge be taken out in such a short span of time? If there had been any easy method, Shaw would have used it years ago. He needed a weapon, a weapon with the power to eradicate the Scourge without revealing his involvement to the world.

Putting his mind to work, a plan began to form in Shaw's mind, a plan to take down not two, but three birds with one stone. Well, it would be less of a stone and more of a shot from a blunderbuss, but the result would be worth the risk. All he had to do was to use one of the many strange and dangerous artefacts from the vaults below the SI 7 headquarters, the tiny splinter his agents had found in the ruins Grim Batol a few years ago, after the last pre-Deathwing erruption. This was the kind of plan he prefered, needing only a worthless dangerous artefact and a few well trained and determined servants of the Alliance. Minimal risk, no publicity, maximum effect, and martyrdom for all dead on his side. A spymaster's dream indeed. He could only thank the new view at the world he had gotten in the last two months...

* * *

Acherus did make a considerable impression on Vlad when he saw the other necropolis for the first time, and in this very moment, Vlad knew he wanted to fortress, and he also knew a way to get it. Well, being honest, he didn't quite know, but he had an idea with a good chance and saw little reason not to try it out.

The members of the Ebon Blade were rather unpleasently suprised when a cloud of mist descended on one of the observation platforms before turning into the Lich King. A dozen blades were drawn in the blink of an eye, and the metallic sound alerted their comrades just like their alarmed calls did. The Lich King however made no move to draw his own weapons, prefering simply to wait. A hundred meters above him, Sartharion and Sindragosa watched the scene, ready to rain down death at a moment's notice.

The knights of the Ebon Blade assumed formation to surround the Lich King, but none of them dared to come to close, all of them keeping a distance of at least ten meters. Their tight formation was a nice target for any sort of area attack spell or a dragon's breath, but Vlad had come to bargain, not to fight. Still, it was nice of them to bunch up like that.

"There will be no need for blades here, ladies and gentlemen. I have come to bargain with your leaders, for we both have something the other party desires." Vlad gave them a rogueish smile, his ton _e_ casual, but not mocking. Judging impressions was mostly impossible due to the helmets the knights wore for the most part.

The leader of these knights arrived just a minute later, or at least Vlad assumed him to be the leader from the way the rank and file reacted to his coming. This leader was covered head to toe in plate, as one would expect it from a knight ready for battle. Said leader had also drawn a weapon, but no one tried to charge right now, probably because nobody wanted to be the first to die.

"Spare us your honeyed words! What to you want here?"

"I propose a deal. This fortress...", Vlad drew Frostmourne and made every take an instinctive step back and their weapons came back up again, "...in exchange for all of your souls trapped in this blade. We are not personal enemies, and once you take this offer, you have little need to hate me at all. What do you say?"

 _I just hope this work. If they think about seizing Frostmourne by force, this will get ugly indeed._

"Why would we trust your word on anything?" The leader tried to maintain a neutral tone, but Vlad could sense his excitement under the unhideable disdain.

"I don't require you to trust me if you don't want to. We could do this in a classical business way, I pay half upfront and the other half after you left Acherus. We both get what we want and avoid all trust issues. I can start at any moment." Vlad grinned on the inside. No one in their right mind would decline this. Leaving one's soul in enemy hands was something only a madman would even consider. Now he had to be right about those guys being sane.

The knights of the Ebon Blade thought about the offer in silence for a while, every second making Vlad more nervous, but they knew all too well what the Lich King could do with their souls if he wanted, and they were certain that Vlad knew it too. The Lich King would possibly just dominate them again using these souls, an option he would not have without them. So their souls could not be allowed to stay in his posession for any longer.

 _I could probably do a lot, if I had any real idea how._

"We accept", their leader said in a gravely tone, "but try to cheat us and you will find no place in the world to hide from us, and no power to keep you save."

Vlad chose to ignore the threat, although he would have loved to chop the head of this fool. He could have done much worse than this... But the important part was to get Acherus, and this was the way without putting the fortress at risk. So he simply began to speak the right words, watching as a swirl of ghostly images began to form around Frostmourne. The artifact protested with all its strength, an ancient predator unwilling to let go of its prey, but Vlad's will as the stronger one and the blade had to obey. Slowly, the ghostly souls surrounding the sword moved to their respective owners, connecting with them in short flashes of white light. As about half of the knights present had received their souls, Vlad fell silent and the swirls vanished back into Frostmourne.

"Your part of the deal", Vlad said, knowing that this had been the point of no return. If the other knights were denied their souls now, they would probably murder the one responsible on the spot.

Their leader knew this too and gave the instructions to avoid such a fate. Only a few minutes later, Acherus rested on the snow, and the Ebon Blade left the necropolis, taking all their belongings with them. Technically, Vlad could by now have taken control over Acherus and had the option to simply escape, but he had little reason to break his word. So he forced Frostmourne once again to let go, and while the knights were stunned by the experience, Vlad sent Acherus flying again. Their flight would bring them to Dragonblight, with a short stop in the woods near Dalaran. Vlad intented to honor his words, as long as the other side honored theirs.

Of course Acherus was the opposite of anything remotely close to being inconspicious, but it was quite fast and its new ownership still a secret. A short telepathic message to Rimefang would make sure all things were ready once they arrived. Another message of the same kind was sent to Naxxramas. The other necropolis was also on the way to Dragonblight, and Vlad longed to see Sintharia again. His fiancé. The mere thought was comforting.

 _Soon enough we will be reunited._ A message from her had been delivered by Gothik, and Vlad was very curious about her son, although he was slightly worried about his chances at making a good impression. Dragons were notoriously proud beings, and he knew too little about their etiquette, something he would have to change soon. So he had to ask the experts nearby. The time he had would be short, but Vlad was a quick learner.

* * *

The woods around Dalaran were a beautiful place, especially if their history was considered. Great destruction was apparently able to create nice things. Yet the group waiting under the crystal trees could not afford to pay much attention to nature, security being a far greater concern. Only one of them seemed relaxed, the others kept their hands close to their weapons and and their eyes never stayed in one place. Of course a slight case of paranoia was helpful to rulers around the world, and a meeting in the wilderness with someone they didn't really trust would amplify any such feelings drastically. But the risk would pay off if this meeting went as planned, and the prize was substantial indeed.

The two worried individuals were Queen Sylvanas Windrunner and Warchief Thrall, with Rimefang being the relaxed one. The frostwyrm knew that he would be the first too die if the Horde leaders were to think that von Carstein had betrayed them. But since he also knew about the Lich King's plans, this was now need to worry.

Acherus came into view, the flying necropolis descenting from the sky, but didn't land. Instead, a cloud of grey mist rushed down into the woods, turning into the familiar shape of Vlad von Carstein. Rimefang bowed his head and stayed behind as the Warchief and the banshee stepped towards the Lich King.

"You actually came. I have to admit I wasn't sure about your decision. But as you have come, let's get this over with." Von Carstein knew how bad this position in the wilderness near Dalaran was, all subtlety broken why the huge form of Acherus.

"This needs some time, and while we can do this with haste, we still have to do it right." The Warchief produced a set of two scroll, the pact both sides were to sign. It was a very basic version for a contract about a military alliance, but it would do its job.

Von Carstein read the scroll with great care, then signed it as his counterparts had already. The contract had some verbal components as well, such as vowing not to break the treaty and the like. Again, both sides spoke the words they had to speak, and both spoke slowly as rushing through the oaths would just not have been right.

For Sylvanas, the whole procedure seemed endless, and she constantly stared into the woods, fearing and expecting arrows, bullets or something of the sort to come flying at them. This position was nearly directly below Acherus, and only the blind would miss the flying fortress sticking out of the woods.

Her own part in the agreement consisted of also vowing to honor the pact as long as the Scourge did, and she made sure to put a lot of emphasis on the latter part. If von Carstein thought he could play the Horde or the Forsaken in particular, he was in for a very unpleasent experience.

"You were here when it happened, right? You have seen the betrayal and the transformation with your own eyes."

Sindragosa nodded, unable to speak about these events long past, although Sartharion could see the tension in her skeletal body. In this beautiful forest, Deathwing's madness had been revealed and resulted in the demise of most of the blue flight and many of his own subjects. It was more than ten thousand years ago by now, but the pain was still there.

"Yes. I was here, and here received my fatal wound. I died in Icecrown, but this were the blow was struck. Were you there as well?"

"No. The naive and idealistic part of me wished I had been, hoping that I could have done something to stop Deathwing. The more sensible parts of my mind know that any such attempts would have caused nothing but my own death, and still I should have done something. Anything. But I was to scared when I heard of the events and so I did nothing, hiding in the sanctum and escaping into my duty, trying to forget the world outside."

"Don't blame yourself for following basic self preservation instincts. You have waited, and you have kept your sanity. And you got free without agreeing to serve some dark presence you know nothing about. The past was grim indeed, and the fate of this world is still fought over, but now we are a fighting party, and our chances aren't the worst. We are stronger than we were, and we are not alone. Most of the world sees us as monster, fears and hates, and to our luck, monsters do have great power, for otherwise they wouldn't be feared." Her icy blue eyes burned with an almost feverish intensity, and her claws dug into the stone floor. "We have suffered at the hands of our enemies, and now it is our turn in this game."

Sartharion nodded slowly, his shame temporarily washed away by her zeal, and his eyes focused again.

"You are right. We should save our tears for the right time, and that is not now. Oh, how I long to turn those who wronged to ash! Doing so will be the best way to honor our dead."

"That's the spirit!" Sindragosa seemed to want to say something else when Sartharion spotted something flying to towards Acherus, and this thing wasn't alone. Half a dozen small flying dots, all of them approaching rapidly.

"We got company." She nodded, and they both spread their wings. If anyone would find out about von Carstein's plan, the nice prospects of a victorious future might not survive. It was a miracle that it had worked so far, and they would not let anyone endanger it any further.

* * *

"With the verbal components of the pact out of the way and the documents signed, I thinks time for you to hould up your end of the bargain." Sylvanas practically hissed at von Carstein, not trying you hide her impatience.

Von Carstein smiled, looking way to good and way to friendly for a Lich King. Those red eyes were something one could get lost in...

Her trust in the Lich King took quite a hit as she shrugged of the nearly hypnotic effect.

"You are right", he said in his soft voice, "and please brace yourself. This might not be the most comfortable experience at first."

His hand closed around Frostmourne, and as he did, pain flared up in her stomach, where the runeblade had killed her. Yet she didn't show her pain, unwilling to appear weak. The blade began to glow brighter, and swirls of mist rose from the runes in the cold metal, only to take the form of a ghostly Sylvanas. The real Banshee Queen could only watch as her soul hovered towards her, and the pain faded away. The first contact between the her soul and her skin send a strange, electric feeling through her entire body. Then, things got much faster, with her soul being sucked back into her. There was a very short burst if extreme pain, enough to make her fall to one and hiss, yet it vanished as swifty as it had come, and now, Sylvanas felt whole again.

"Well, this seems to be a good time for a drink." Still smiling, von Carstein took three cups and a bottle out of some hidden pocket and and filled the cups before handin them to Sylvanas and the Warchief.

He downed his own drink in one go. "If you don't mind, I would..."

Von Carstein could not finish his sentence as he was interupted by the sound of great wings. Looking up, the three leaders saw Sartharion and Sindragosa racing to the west.

"Whatever they have seen, it's best if I leave now." Seeing no point in arguing with that, Windrunner and the Warchief nodded, and the Lich King turned to mist again, rising back up to Acherus.

Sylvanas and Thrall hurried into cover, weapons ready and looking for threats, but whoever was coming for them seemed to have been sucessfully intercepted. With no desire to waste their chance, they swiftly left the scene, in the direction of the small glade were they had left their mounts. The pact would be revealed soon enough, and the longer they kept it secret, the better.

The small points in the sky soon turned out to be a squadron of griffon riders, and Sartharion positioned himself in their path, Sindragosa on his left side. Their opponents came closer, but maintained a certain distance, and no one thought it was out of respect.

"What are you doing here?", the leader of the griffon riders shouted, his pistol already cocked and ready, although he had the politeness and common sense not to point at Sartharion just yet.

"I see no need to tell you, and I see no reason for you to pester us. So why don't just leave us alone?"

"This land belongs to Dalaran and the Kirin Tor. You are trespassing on these lands, and so you fall into my responsibility."

A small, but noticeable surge in magical activity told Sartharion that Acherus began to move again. This reduced his tension quite a bit, but the downside was that this movement was obviously visible.

"It seems we are leaving anyway. If you want to part ways if all your limbs still in place, this is your chance." Sindragosa's eyes glowed a little brighter as she spoke, making her look even more frightening for those smaller than her. Most of the griffon riders got the message, and the glances over to their leader convinced said leader to back down as well. So the two groups left towards their respective flying bases, looking over their shoulders, but no side had any interest in a suprise attack in the moment.

* * *

Naxxramas and Acherus were impressive for themself, but the true full effect could only be seen when both operated to together. Acherus had met the other necropolis on the way to the Wyrmrest Temple, and this moment had been expected by those onboard.

Of course the first eye contact between Sintharia and Vlad resulted in a kiss and hug. In fact, the Vlad felt that if she hugged him a little tighter, she would probably crush a few bones. After the first few moments, her expression turned into a worried and slightly angry one.

"You should have told me that you could just come back from the dead! Can you imagine how I felt.?"

"Yes, I can." The sudden sadness in his voice caused her expression to change again. "And just for protocol, I didn't tell me you could just wipe the floor with Yogg-Saron's forces."

"I didn't know I could! And that doesn't excuse anything!"

Seeing how his diversion had not gone as intented, Vlad went for the far nicer plan B and kissed her again. It was attempt at deception easier to see through than a broken window, but it still worked.

But there was little time for such pleasentries. The way was still long, and time was not an endless resource. So Acherus was send back to Icecrown, to be manned and made ready to strike when necessary, while they used Naxxramas for the trip to Dragonblight.

Merely thinking of the conference there was enough to turn Vlad's blood to ice, and not the kind of ice the Lich King could be comfortable with. With so few allies and so many enemies there, he wondered if appearing there was actually suicide. In this very moment, they could still withdraw, escape back to Icecrown and hide there until all this was over.

And yet doing so might only result in being incernerated there instead of somewhere else. If this was the only chance of taking Deathwing out, taking it was the only choice that made sense. So it had to be done, even if it was the one of the greatest risks he had ever faced.

Looking at Sintharia brought some of his resolve back. With her and the others at his side, the balance of power was not quite as bad as it first seemed. Still very much in favor for those who wanted to eradicate them, but it was something. Vlad looked into her eyes again. If they could stay together afterwards, the chance was worth it.

"Mother?"

In retrospect, the landing bay of Naxxramas was not the most private place. The others did have the niceness to leave them alone there, but the owner of this voice, who Vlad could only assume to be Sabellian, had not been there when they had arrived.

She let go of him slowly, and they both turned around to face Sabellian. Vlad's first reflex was the extent a hand, but with Sabellian in his true form doing so would appear rather silly, so he just bowed his head slightly.

"Vlad von Carstein, pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too", Sabellian answered, sounding a lot more confused than happy. "May I talk to my mother in private for minute or two?"

"Sure. I'll excuse myself then, darling."

Sabellian rose an eyebrow at that, watching the Lich King closely as he left.

"Is this real? Sorry, but I can't believe you actually fell for a mortal."

"I didn't exactly expect it either, but it is true, I do love him, and the feeling is mutual. He even gave me a ring." Sintharia grinned. "And just for protocol, Vlad's mortal days are long over."

"I won't pretent to really understand this, but if being with him makes you happy, I have nothing against him."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

They remained silent for a while afterwards, unsure what to say but able to draw comfort from each other's presence.

* * *

For the hundreth time, Vlad stared in front of the mirror to check his appearence. Doing so actually required a spell to make the mirror work, but it was worth the little effort. Meeting a being called the lifebinder was something he was deeply afraid of, and there was no point in lying to himself.

 _You're not alone, don't pretent to be now. You will be talking to reasonable individuals, and you can talk. Everything is going to be fine._

Yet simply telling himself that time and time again did little to calm Vlad down. He had the feeling that something bad was going to happen soon, and he had seen to much to dismiss his instincts.

 _It's not like there is much in the way of other options, not for you and not for those you will meet. Don't trust them, trust in their will to survive._

Looking past the mirror, he let his gaze wander over the frozen landscape outside, and this brought a small measure of peace to his worried mind.

"You're awake. Still or again?"

Her voice pushed more fears away from him for now, and he could feel her warmth as Sintharia walked over to him.

"Again, although I slept for barely an hour. Not that I need to sleep, but I can't find any rest in the calm before the storm, at least not this time."

She put an arm around him, her breath even warmer on his neck. "I see you are afraid, but there is little need to do so now. The oaths protecting the attentants of such a meeting are important enough to be considered sacred. Nobody will dare to shed blood there."

"From my experience, fairness and honesty are usually among the first to die in times of crisis, and we certainly have one on our hands now. Are you not worried.

"Of course I am, but we have gone to far and achieved to much to turn back now. The dice are cast, it's time to use our roll well. And yes, tomorrow could indeed be our last day, a possibility we had every day since we first met." Her voice changed to playful and seductive tone. "We might aswell enjoy it then. Let's go back to bed."

"You are indeed good at making me feel better", he said and kissed her.

* * *

The Twilight Hammer was a classic cult like quite a few others, but it was still facinating to see them up close, their determination to follow orders they knew to come from a maniac. And a suprisingly large number of them were not truly insane. It was suprising time and time again how far people would go out of simple greed. But this was also a calming factor, as it was easier to deal with the usual avarice and ambition than with madness.

All in all, Vakarthys found them quite interesting. Being accepted into their ranks was a breeze, with no questions asked after he had turned the first few of them to dust. Since no one could certainly tell which fellow cult member was utterly crazy, no one really tried to check his background, and neither did anyone really dare to order him around. Of course some of those higher up on the chain of command had keen senses, but they cared to little about their grunts to pay much attention to their deaths.

 _So nice of them to help me do my job. They could have made this so hard and boring if they wanted to. Perhaps I could show some of them the power of a true god rather than the imitation of some tentacled freakshow?  
_

To a normal cultist, most areas of Grim Batol were acessible, and none of the various security measures were enough to keep Vakarthys out. The fortress itself met his expectations when it came to design, grim, threatening and haunted by more than one group of dark spirits. In short, it felt like home.

He paced through the dark corridors only illuminated by falls and canals of liquid metal, more material for the constant production of weapons and armor. His red armor and silver cloak were hidden under the black and violet robes of a cult member, but it was in no way a good disguise. Not that Vakarthys cared for maintaining one. Every single step, every part of his posture was meant to provoke someone into challenging him. Yet the other cultists around him knew better than to do so, and the higher ups worried to much about other things. Attacking an underling might give an opening to a rival of equal rank, and most promotions within the cult were achieved by stepping over the dead body of a previous superior.

His master had resurrected another former native of this world, and Vakarthys was not too sure about this decision. The individual in question was certainly not trustworthy, but could be useful if kept on a short leash. Right now, Dargonax had not been send back to Azeroth, but it was always good to have some potential backup up your sleeve in case things went wrong. Honestly, there were very few beings on Azeroth Vakarthys would not obliterate in short order, but one could never be certain. Azarneth had been attacked by celestials, and Vakarthys was sure to have sensed one in Dalaran. But was long as those celestials didn't show up outside, he could not try to take them on directly, no matter how strongly he wanted to do so.

Now his goal was to find out what the cult and its master actually wanted. Those in charge would obviously not tell their lowly henchmen anything until the very beginning of their missions, and even then the details were usually blurry. Most cultists didn't care either due to being insane or pretending to be insane, preventing them for asking many or very detailed questions. But an organisation of such scale would require some sort of bureaucracy in the background, at least among some of the mortal officers. That meant paperworlk, and paperwork could be a good source of information. There would be some sort of code, but if you were able and willing to rip the code out of the minds of others, this was only a small problem and only for a short time.


	24. Chapter 23

The sun rose way too early, and Naxxramas had arrived at the temple. No amount of wishing to be somewhere else could change these facts, and while ordering the necropolis to change course might, it was too late for that. Retreating now might easily be seen as a proof of betrayal, and if there was one thing Vlad really didn't want to have, it was even more people wishing to see him dead for good.

Arygos had landed on Naxxramas during the night, delivering the official invitation to the summit in person and giving some last advice. Since no member of Vlad's forces had any experience about these summits that was not thousands of years old, it was very welcome. Arygos had also assured them that Malygos was firmly on their side, and that nearly all other guests had already arrived as well.

The time to admit fear was certainly over, now it was the time to show absolute confidence, no matter if it was real or no, any sign of weakness would have to be suppressed.

Even the massive temple was too small to allow the attendants to stay in their true form, so everyone pretended to be mortal, although doing so has often utterly pointless. The climate was not pleasant, and the fear of Deathwing was not the only cause. Once more, leaders of factions who had been at war for a long time and would prefer to paint the walls with the blood of their hated foes. Once again, only the fear of a mutual enemy stayed their hands, and all of them knew it and silently hoped for Deathwing to incinerate more enemies than allies, which everyone knew as well.

This is it. Not a vital, bloody battle, but maybe the preparation for a later one. We have come so far, we have to do this right. Vlad looked over to the members of his small group. Sintharia, beautiful as always, even though she looked every grim and seemed to expect a bloodbath. Sindragosa, also quite a looker in mortal form, appeared a lot more relaxed, and Vlad envied her for it. Sartharion maintained a cold and forced neutral expression, but his eyes darted around constantly, looking for hidden blades in every corner. Sabellian had chosen to stay on Naxxramas, an ace up the sleeve ready to act if things went south, and because the world still thought him to be dead and he wished to keep it like that if possible. Rimefang had taken his place, although the frostwyrm was clearly very nervous in his humanoid shape, an effect only reinforced by said form looking frail and a sickly. Nalice was the only one who looked halfway comfortable.

"Showtime, ladies and gentlemen." Vlad knew he was too formal, but for some reason it calmed him. He got five grim, determined nods in return, took a last unnecessary deep breath, again only to stay calm, then he opened the door in front of them.

Despite Naxxramas hanging in the sky close to the temple, entering the meeting room still caused some commotion, a few curses and many hateful stares, but most of those in here knew better than to say anything out loud. Most.

"What are you doing here?" The shock and rage in the voice was to pure to be faked, and hearing it showed Vlad the bad parts of surprising people. Some were just really bad at hiding their disdain.

"Who let these monsters in? This madness, letting those who try to burn the world to cinders in on the meeting where their destruction is discussed." The speaker looked like a night elf, but the aura of life and heat around him made the illusion rather obvious.

Oh great, some real idealist.

Sintharia back to take a step forward, eyes glowing with fury, and Vlad swiftly placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her back. Her lack of fear was very comforting, but this was the wrong moment to follow a temper. Even her single step caused many in the room to reach for weapons or prepare spells, and of course the speaker would find his views confirmed. Luckily, they had some friends here.

"They are here because I invited them", Malygos said with substantial, yet very controlled anger. "And you should know better than to speak like that, Caelestrasz. Deathwing is a threat to all of us, even to those some of us might not like personally."

"Why would Deathwing's minions be allowed to listen to our plans of stopping him? One of them was already a spy for all those years, and one was his where. We might as well slit our own throats."

Now Sindragosa also put a hand on Sintharia's other shoulder, and even Sartharion was obviously furious, although he barely moved. Nalice seemed unaffected, and people all around held their breaths.

Vlad decided to do something before someone else escalated the situation any further. Better he did it in a semi-controlled way.

"If you want to accuse us of the worst atrocities and allegiance to a psychotic monster, fine. But please don't try to insult our intelligence. If we did work for Deathwing, where is he? So many of his enemies in one enclosed space, the chance too good to waste. We could have brought Deathwing with us and let him deal with all of you, but we didn't. So why would any servant of Deathwing not seize this opportunity? This alone should tell you that we are either not working for Deathwing, or we are hopelessly incompetent at our jobs. In both cases, there is no need to worry to much."

"Enough! We cannot afford to fight amongst us now. Stay down, all of you!" The booming voice cut straight through the commotion, silencing it immediately.

A radiant presence filled out the room, a presence of such vitality that Vlad found it to be just uncomfortable. The effects on living beings seemed to be the opposite, not unexpected but still good to know. The owner of this presence could only be the Lifebinder, and Vlad's heart would have skipped a few beats if it had still been beating. She would normally not have been unpleasent to look at, but the primal fear she caused to his undead self prevented him from doing so closely. If there had been any doubt about his aversion to do anything violent here, it died in this very moment.

"However, Caelestrasz does have a point. Why are you here?"

Malygos wanted to say something, but she cut him off. "I do believe the Lich King can speak for himself, can't he?"

Vlad took a deep breath again. "I don't think that Deathwing has any love for the Scourge, and several of my friends have deserted from his forces, which puts all of us on his list of enemies. None of us wish to be turned to ash, and taking Deathwing out is the best and maybe only way to avoid that fate. I do think that is the reason why most of those present here came."

"You made your case. Very well, your presence will be tolerated."

Vlad bowed his head slightly before stepping to his group, and the meeting truly began. The formalities were cut short quite drastically, but still lasted for nearly an hour as no one dared to increase tensions by interrupting them. Then, the planning began in earnest.

Vakarthys marched through the corridors of Grim Batol, all attempts of stealth discarded, his glare challenging everyone to try and stop him. But since Vakarthys had also dropped all spells that hid his power, the sane cult members didn't dare to do anything. A few of the crazier ones did try, and they paid for it dearly. A single gesture crushed their hearts, and they went down, gasping and hands reaching to their chests. Someone among the sane guards sounded the alarm, and Vakarthys grinned. Stealth was so boring and tiresome, it was time for some good, old slaughter. But business before pleasure.

The door to the room of the local cult commander was shattered with a single thought, and the various ledgers, letters and notes inside were swiftly send into a pocket dimension for later use. The sound of dozens of armored boots and heavy claws filled the corridors, and the first guards charged around the corner, elementals, dragonspawn, cultists and even a few ogres.

A single bolt of red energy turned the lead dragonspawn into a rapidly expanding cloud of scales, blood and gore. Of course, it would take a lot more to discourage proper fanatics, especially since they were now frenzied by the spells of their leaders, but Vakarthys had so much in store for them.

In the next few minutes, dozens of Deathwing's servants were obliterated in various ways, incinerated, frozen and shattered, electrocuted or ripped to shreds. Defensive spells were cast and blasted to bits, yet the blood crazed horde continued to charge. Yet just before the first risen blade came in reach of Vakarthys, he changed into his true form, and then the massacre truly began.

It lasted for about half an hour, and left hundreds dead and a large part Grim Batol burning. Vakarthys left the smoldering ruin for the sky, mission accomplished and his card left.

* * *

Ikit could only continue his manical laughter as he flipped the last switch. Green sparks of warp power began to flow along the thick cables connecting the various pieces of machinery on the engine deck of the Storm Sky, and all those brilliant inventions came to life. An outsider would have considered the whole room to be the mess created by an utterly insane mind, but who cared? Ikit Claw was the favorite of the Great Horned Rat, and all those who opposed him would certainly fall before his unlimited power! None of them would escape their rightful punishment!

This was the greatest weapon Skavendom had ever build, and in this land far away from Skavenblight, none of the fools on the council would hear about before Ikit was ready to deal with them appropriately. The world would bow to him, and under his divinely inspired rule, nothing could stop Clan Skyre!

The engine rumpled, and steam was leaking from various pipes, but Ikit's exoskeleton made him immune to such irritations. A couple of his minions screamed as they were burned, but Ikit ignored their suffering as he reached for the controls. His great triumph would not be reduced by the whiny incompetence of his useless minions! As the fools didn't stop screaming, Ikit drew his pistol and put a bullet through their skulls. With the distraction out of the way, Ikit began to push all the buttons and pull all the levers in his reach. It was time for a field test, and there were plenty of targets to take down. The massive weapon rose slowly, the engines becoming louder and louder.

* * *

Dozens of different plans had been presented to deal with Deathwing, but except for one, they had failed to gather much support. And the only one who had received substantial consideration was, at least in Vlad's mind, utterly crazy. It involved traveling back in time, which he had thought to be impossible in the first place. And to make matters even more absurd, the plan, if it was to be called one, boiled down to acquiring an ancient magical superweapon called the Dragonsoul, some sort of magic-enhancing medallion of tremendous power, and use it against Deathwing. A short inquiry revealed that the mad aspect was the creator of said artifact, and that it had been purposefully corrupted by a demon.

To say that Vlad didn't like the plan would be a drastic understatement, he couldn't even remember to have heard anything of similar absurdity before outside of the rantings and ravings of chaos worshippers. If this was the best plan those present could come up with, Azeroth was certainly doomed. And since Vlad was stuck on this world, he would work to avoid that fate. This meant convincing everyone of some plan that might actually work.

So he had to act, and stepped forward again to address the entire room, ignoring the way some many eyes stared at him, no matter how he much he would have liked to cut them down. A pleasant surprise were the more supportive looks from a fee members of the Horde. Vlad even felt a little sorry about this. The Horde had supported the plan with the time travel, and now he would try to rip that plan apart.

"I know you don't trust me, and it is also true that I don't know much about the rules of time travel, but let me be honest: This is a terrible plan."

He ignored the muttered curses and continued, but some of the attendants seemed to actually see reason.

"The entire plan requires us to travel through time, which I can't imagine to be easy or free from danger, to get our hands on a weapon we don't know how to use, against a foe who does, with no chance of trying it out. We don't even know of can use this weapon without it blowing up in our face or Deathwing taking control of it. So why take this path? Deathwing is certainly a being of great power, but so are many of us. Instead of using our limited resources on such a preposterous act of despair, I would suggest a much simpler plan. We watch Deathwing, find his next target, and then we strike. With our combined strength, we can teleport enough troops there to take him out. Deathwing may have the backing of the old gods, but we took one of those down already, and that was with terrible coordination. With a good plan, well executed, we can gang up on him and crush him. There will be casualties of course, but it is still a better chance than the previous idea."

"Interesting idea, von Carstein, but what makes your plan any better than the previous one, even if we put all trust issues aside?" It seemed Caelestrasz had gotten his self control back.

"I just told you. I doesn't rely on a weapon we might not be able to control, just on our own strength and skill. And we know outselves quite well, and most of us can control their own actions." Vlad threw a glare at Caelestrasz as he spoke the last sentence, but his target merely scoffed at the remark.

"I will support any sensible ideas about dealing with this crisis, but I won't risk anything on such low odds and madness."

But Caelestrasz was apparently quite not done just yet. "Do you think facing Deathwing is easy and without risk? You are the one suggesting madness!"

"But at least my suggestion is based on things we can actually know and powers we already have, not on some cursed artifact no one might be able to control, let alone use it against its creator. If Deathwing has had any sense when he created this weapon, he will have made sure it can't be turned against him, at least not easily and on the fly. And while I have heard many words describing Deathwing, short sighted idiot was not one of them."

His words did seem to be rather controversial, as the room seemed to exploded in about two dozen different arguments. For Vlad, this was actually better than he expected, and so there might be some hope to avoid this kind of crazy plan from sending all of them to grave.

"Damn, now they will never agree on anything", Nalice said quietly as Vlad returned to the group. "At best, we will get two groups who both think the others to be morons, at worst, someone snaps and this all goes straight to hell. Could you not have told you opinion in slightly less aggressive way?"

"Perhaps I should have, but I had to make sure I got their attention."

Of course splitting the groups present was a risky move, and now they would have to wait to see if this actually work. It was rather disappointing, the arguments going on and on until someone had the idea of pausing the meeting until the next day, hoping that this would calm the opposing parties down. Everyone left the room, already thinking about the options to meet other attendants in private and convince them. The public part was over for now, and shady action would ensue soon enough.

* * *

The glyph shimmered slightly, a faint, yet clear red glow, brimming with malicious intent. The meaning of this glyph or the three others was still unknown, although there were some differences in the details, a few lines slightly deeper or wider than others. Subtle, but probably no accident given the power of the spell bound by those signs. And this spell meant that the one who had placed them here expected a major battle here sometime , Valiona, Gothik and Rivendare all stood around the glyph in question, carefully running their magical scans over the lines burned into the saronite wall. They had done so for more than an hour already, trying to figure out how to handle it. Removing it was impossible without risking the destruction of the entire fortress, so they had to find a different strategy. Perhaps they could shut the spell down, or modify it in a way to make it harmless. Doing so might not wipe Icecrown of the map, but any interference with such powerful magic was highly dangerous. However, it could also be very rewarding. Even Arthas' strongest spells paled in comparison to this fine, yet strong weave of magic, an overly complex spell for a simple purpose. Which meant that there was something else behind this whole construct, something that would require the vast amounts of power the visible spells would generate from the expected slaughter.

With the greatest care, three of them worked together to follow the strings of magical energy, trying their best to find the hidden purpose, Valiona and Theralion searching on instinct, Gothik relying on his studies. Rivendare could not hope to contribute much to this task, so he simply watched over their bodies.

The glyph seemed to lack most of the traps so many mages placed upon their masterpieces, with only a few of them preventing its removal. No way to get rid of it, every look at it confirmed that point. And any modification would have to be made without dispelling any part of the original, under the pain of death. Few circumstances increased the ability to focus in the same way as a deadly threat, yet nervousness posed its own danger. After another thirty minutes, they stopped their investigation before getting to shaky. They had learned little and risked a lot, and they would have to do so again on the next day. With no success fighting this problem, they spend the rest of the day making sure that Icecrown was properly fortified and the ruin of the plague tower repaired.

If the others could not prevent the massacre the creator of the glyphs had expected, they would have to be ready for the worst possible outcome, which meant having the walls manned and enough supplies for those who needed them for at least half a year. It would take time to make Icecrown truly ready, but that was no excuse not to try.

* * *

Someone interfered with the glyphs in Icecrown again, and again, whoever did so was too careful to blow himself up. This meant things had to be accelerated again before anyone could find out what the plan was. Vakarthys contacted his master, to make sure his course of action was approved of.

 ** _Don't act on this now. I will do so myself._**

 _Is the new recruit ready?_

 ** _Yes. He his at your disposal, should you require assistance._**

 _Thanks, master. The glyphs are placed, and they will be ready soon._

Vakarthys was surprised by his master taking care of this personally, and would almost feel sorry for anyone who might try to stop his master. Almost. Once his master would take action, those who stood in his way would soon be turned to ash. Or perhaps is master might act in a more subtle way, although this had a good chance of still causing a bloodbath.

Still eager to learn what his master could teach him, he would have to watch this rather carefully. No matter how this would go down, it would be interesting to watchwhat happened, for his master would make it a spectacle, on way or the other.

* * *

The attendants had given very comfortable suites, but members of so many factions hating each other made sure that everyone here preferred security over comfort. Even though the suites were large, they felt small as they were crawling with nervous bodyguards and covered in spells. The Scourge delegation would have taken advantage of Naxxramas, eschewing hospitality for the safety of the flying necropolis. But someone had to stay in their actual room if someone was interested in a conspiratorial meeting. So they all stayed in the salon, a drinking wine and worrying about the entire situation, wondering when and how things would end badly. Even if this went as planned, it would leave them with enough enemies to worry about. In a best case scenario, the plan against Deathwing would be accepted and kill of both the mad aspect and all their other foes, but no one even really hoped for that to happen. Daydreaming would not achieve much in this regard, and the waiting was always on of the hardest part in dangerous and important situations. Vlad pulled out a set of cards, and the next bottle was opened.

The waiting was quite long, hours passing without anyone showing up. Alcohol would do very little to a dragon and nothing to an undead, so they didn't hesitate to simply refill their cups their again. Playing cards was certainly fun, although it quickly became clear that Nalice and Vlad had the best poker faces at the table. Still, they were not always lucky, and it didn't really matter since there were no bets currently in place.

 _ **You now there are more of your kind out there, still in slavery.**_

Sartharion wanted to jump up from his chair, but then chose to wait as the dark voice was actually correct. Still, he checked his magical defenses, just to be sure. Telepathy was not inherently dangerous, but such uninvited contact was concerning.

 _ **And you want to see them free.**_

 _Obviously. Tell me something I don't already know._ His magical defenses were completely intact, and so Sartharion answered without showing any reaction to the others in the room. He would tell them later.

 ** _Sure. I know where they are, and I can give you the power to free them._**

 _And why would I believe a word you're saying? I don't know you, and a voice in my head is not exactly a trustworthy source._

 ** _Maybe not, but do tell: Do you have any other option? I don't think you have a source of the power you would just lying around in easy reach. And if you could free your kin alone, you would not be where you currently are. It is fairly obvious that simply tearing Deathwing to shreds is not something within your abilities. And I did already show what I am capable of, just ask your undead friend._**

 _And if you are so high and mighty, why are you actually talking to me? You will want something in return, and if you are omnipotent, you get whatever you want without me being involved._

 _ **I never claimed to me omnipotent, but I do have great power at my disposal. I won't tell you my weaknesses for obvious reasons, I do have limitations, and again, I am your only chance to achieve what you want.**_

 _Why? I do have quite a few other allies at my side, and for all I know, your power is not exactly safe to use,_

 _ **You have already seen what I can do, and has your friend Sintharia has not died from it. In fact, she seems perfectly fine, Of course power comes at a price, but you know that as well as I do. You also know that careful use of such power can be used to avoid the negative side effects.**_

 _That might be true, but I still have no reason to believe that you won't make sure the side effects benefit you. I studied the source of power I used for weeks, and I have never seen anything of you._

 ** _Do you need to? Even if taking my power would mean your doom, would you decline it? It is your only chance at getting the power you need in short order, and any passing second leaves the lives of those you want to save in grave danger._**

It was true, but Sartharion would not just admit this to a stranger. Still, it was true, and it was indeed his duty to free those under Deathwing's control or die trying. The latter one was the nearly guaranteed result, one he wanted to avoid if he could. And for all his fears, this might be the option to escape that fate and get away unscathed, unlikely as it was.

 _I cannot give you an answer now. You know why._

 _ **Of course. Just remember that you can call upon my power at any time if you are ready to pay the price.**_

And just as swiftly as the mental presence had appeared, it left again. Sartharion took a deep breath and realized that everyone in the room was looking at him, concern in their eyes. He took another few deep breaths before clearing his throat.

"I was just contacted telepathically by the creature who claims to be behind Sindragosa's freedom and the power Sintharia used in Ulduar. He offered to help me in freeing the remains of the black flight still under Deathwing's mental influence, at some cost he didn't specify. And the scary part is, I think he could really do this."

"Who is this person? How can any being do something like that without even being on Azeroth? All of this should be downright impossible." Sindragosa turned to Vlad and Sintharia. "You both were brought back by a creature who claimed to serve this presence. What do you know? You must have learned something."

"Not really. When I was resurrected, I talked to Azarneth for barely a few minutes before he left for some other mission. Sabellian mentioned meeting him in Outland, but didn't find anything out because someone unknown attack Azarneth and Sabellian fled." Sintharia sighed. "I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know more."

Vlad continued. "I'm afraid I am not much help here either. Azarneth was always vague about his master, and dodged any direct question. All I know is that this master is a being far more powerful than anything I have ever seen before, and is apparently not the nicest person around."

"Well, this is not exactly much. But the question is what we do know. It is true that this presence has kept his word for now, and his abilities can't really be questioned. The price of his power is just as vague as their full extent, and his intentions are unknown except for a desire for more power. Suffice to say, this is not a preferable situation." Sindragosa emptied her cup and refilled it. "So, how do we react to this?"

* * *

The mission was short, but it had been perhaps the most important one SI 7 had ever attempted. As always, the agents involved did not now the details, but they knew it was vital to the future of the Alliance and all of Azeroth, and they would rather die than fail king and country now.

Teleportation and swift flying mounts had gotten the agents very far, but the real challenge was the very last bit of the way. Sneaking into Icecrown was one of the greatest prizes a rogue on Azeroth could claim, and while the ones attempting to do so didn't do it for pride and bragging rights, but out of duty.

They carried a single box made out of strange metal, and their orders were quite simple in theory. The mission was to bring this box to some place in Icecrown where it would not be found, and then to push the single button on the top of said box before leaving with all haste. Of course the agents wondered what exactly was in the box, and those with magical talent could tell that it was made to contain something of great and terrifying potential.

Icecrown had a substantial garrison, but still most of it where mindless slaves unable to detect anyone with decent skills at hiding and sneaking. The actual sentient defenders were placed on the vital positions on the walls and near potential breaches at the weakpoints of the battlements, and so the agents were able to avoid their prying eyes.

It seemed that so much of Icecrown's reputation was based on the dread caused by the inhabitants or directed against a direct assault, but the defenses meant to keep infiltrators at bay were not very good. Of course this might be because of the losses the Scourge had suffered made them unable to have all the troops they needed to watch the entire wall properly in place.

So the agents did what rogues do best, slipping between the intelligent undead and passing the mindless puppets with ease. They stalked through the freezing corridors of the massive fortress. It did take them more than an hour to find a sufficient spot to place the box.

Things went wrong the very second the button was pressed. Magic flared up from the inside, and the spells of Icecrown reacted. Alarms sounded from all directions, and the agents now knew they had to run fast and far if they wanted to see the next day. Weapons were drawn, for speed was now an important factor and unwelcome eyes had to be dealt with swiftly and brutally.

The group fled, but only after about a hundred meter, the seven agents made contact with the first patrol, and while those few undead were swiftly cut to ribbons, they did cost SI 7 too much time, and the noose tightened quickly. This time, the intruders were the ones hit from an ambush, shades phasing through the walls to snuff out the flames of life, and the first agent died, a spectral claw becoming physical for a moment to rip out his throat. The counter followed suit, magic daggers and swords making short work of the unarmored ghosts. But now they had been found, and the end approached.

A single figure stormed around the next corner, the dark creature the agents recognized as Prince Keleseth, last member of the Council of Blood. They charged in, knowing that while their death was now certain, they might still be able to strike this foe down before falling.

Keleseth hurled his magic at them, bolts of fire turning two of them to ash in the blink of an eye, but three ignored the fate of their comrades and charged further, blades ready to and this fiend here and now.

The vampire laughted, and with a single gesture, he dropped the illusion hiding his escort. The first of the attackers fell with a frostbolt in his guts. The second one ducked as a Val'kyr dashed towards him, but the undead simply continued her way and bisected the third member of the group with her halberd.

The surviving agents growled and slashed at Keleseth, determined to take down at least one foe before dying. Yet her attacks did not hit the undead commander, who dodged with unnatural speed. His previously slender hands had turned into vicious claws, and he struck back, a single swipe sending her head flying.

Keleseth took a moment to lick the delicious blood of his lips before nodding to his troops. No words were necessary, since they already knew what to do: Scour the corridor for survivors, and turn every stone to find out what the spies had done.

On the other end of the same corridor, the seventh agent slowly made her escape, remaining hidden to avoid the fate of her companions. She would have to return alone, as someone had to report on this mission back in Stormwind.

* * *

The box was expertly prepared and after the button was pushed, it slowly began to release to power stored within. Doing so had no strong immediate effect, but the removal of the spells hiding its content meant that said content could now be detected, and not only by the defenses of Icecrown. That was nothing but an unfortunate side effect, as the purpose of the whole operation was to make sure the content was sensed by its creator. Another spell cast on the box ensured that Director Shaw knew that the delivery was successful, his masterplan put in motion, at the cost of a few good agents, but the victory would be worth the sacrifice.

Shaw was very aware that he had to act quickly if this plan was to work. The third spell on the box would ensure his dreams came true if he played his part right. The Alliance would be reforged, let by Borgwen and through him, by Director Shaw. All their enemies would fall once the Alliance finally fought this war the way they should have from day one, and doing so was inevitable. Warchief Thrall had admittedly appeared to be a somewhat reasonable leader, but the appointment of Hellscream as his replacement and his deal with von Carstein had revealed his true colours. Drastic action was a sad necessity for the greater good. Still ensuring himself that his cause was indeed the righteous one, he send out his messengers. There would be a few great martyrs of the Alliance very soon...


	25. Chapter 24

The call of the artifact within the box grew stronger at an increasing rate, and soon enough, anyone with arcane talent within miles could hear it. Meanwhile, it's master heard it from another continent, and the deepest and darkest kind of rage was ignited, fueled by greed and anger. The insane monster turned around, all other thoughts forgotten, and moved towards the call with all the haste great magic and even greater strength could muster.

The guardians of Icecrown did not know this, but only a fool could have ignored the danger posed by whatever those spies had unleashed. Realizing that they were in above their heads, Keleseth and the others wasted no time contacting von Carstein about this turn of events. The entire garrison was placed on high alert, and flying scouts were send out in all directions. Whoever would come to attack Icecrown would not be able to claim the advantage of a surprised target.

"We have to get back to Icecrown now! Whatever those spies have planted there, we need to stop it!" Vlad was just as furious as he was concerned. This could mean anything, but likely it was a plot to destroy the entire fortress. After all, enough magical power could level an entire city if used correctly.

"If we run away now, everyone here will suspect treachery, or some other dark intention," Nalice threw in. "This is our only chance to find a way to get rid of Deathwing! We can't waste it!"

"The eggs from the sanctum are in Icecrown." Sartharion's cold statement ended the discussion, and soon after, Naxxramas was on the way back, the necropolis showing its ability to match the speed of a galloping horse. Rimefang stayed behind to inform their allies, not too happy about it, but but complaining either.

Their sudden departure did indeed cause suspicion, but nobody there had enough support for immediate action. Still, there were many who considered this evidence of some sort of betrayal, some honestly, some because they wanted to. This was an opportunity for their enemies, and they were not foolish enough to let such a chance pass.

"Sindragosa, can you teleport us to Icecrown?"

"No, sir. My last attempt was panic reaction and its success mostly luck. I can help you try to make this flying hunk of stone fly faster, but anything else is currently beyond my abilities."

"Then do what you can. And there is no need for formalities. Just call me Vlad."

More magic was pumped into the fortress, increasing the speed of the necropolis even further. It made changing course far more difficult, but since they were traveling in a straight line. Still, this was painfully slow in regard to the urgency of the situation. A message was send to tell the garrison to move the dragon eggs from the vaults to Acherus, just in case they would arrive too late.

The presence of the content of the became stronger and stronger, and after only a few minutes, it could be felt from Naxxramas. As soon as this happened, both Sindragosa and Sintharia grasped for breath.

"This is impossible!" Sintharia nearly fell as she recognized this magical signature. "The last shards of the Dragonsoul were destroyed when I died the first time!"

"It seems at least one of those things did survive. The question is why someone could place it in Icecrown instead of just using it." Sartharion thought about it for a moment. "Unless...", his voice failed at the thought, "unless the intention is to get the attention of Deathwing! With his connection to it, he would feel it anywhere. And while he is certainly insane, he will want his greatest weapon back."

Vlad got even paler than he had been before as he listened. "So you are saying that someone from the Alliance just lighted a signal to lure Deathwing to Icecrown?" He cursed a few times in ancient Nehekarian. The idea was good, and he hated enemies who knew how to achieve their goals.

"If we tell anyone, they will now that Icecrown might soon be turned into a smoldering ruin. Everyone will now that we will be massively weakened in the aftermath, even if we survive it at all. But I don't think we have that much of a choice." Nalice again maintained the poker face of a true politician, but her concern, or rather growing panic, was unable to be hidden.

"We might have one other choice, although I don't like even considering it." Vlad looked over to Sartharion. "If anything I know about the being behind Azarneth and Vakarthys is true, his power could enable us to fight Deathwing on equal terms."

Sartharion was obviously also quite unhappy about the idea. "I do that if I have to, but I really don't want to. Speaking of Vakarthys, why don't we try to get him to face Deathwing? He is both crazy enough to do it and perhaps able to actually make it."

"I have no method to contact him, and he certainly insane, but we can't count on him to do anything. Still, it is worth a try, and he might already know about this mess. Let's hope his lust for battle trumps whatever objections he might have."

* * *

Of course, Vakarthys was already well aware of the new source of magic so close to the glyphs he had placed, and found it worthy of his direct and personal attention. So he returned back to Icecrown, to find the fortress in chaos, the garrison running in all directions to search for the source of the strange magic. While its presence was obvious, it did not reveal its exact location, and Icecrown was quite a large place to search in a short span of time.

Vakarthys was nowhere near as worried as the locals, trusting in his own strength to survive any potential magical explosion should the power source be used in such a manner. He linked his mind to the eyes of countless mindless undead, not caring what the Scourge command might think about him using their minions like that. If anyone had a problem with it, they should step up and tell it to his face, something no one with a sense of self preservation would dare to do.

 ** _There might be a different kind of reaction to this interference. The worm you met in the human city is on the way to your position._**

 _Is that so? I thought he was still busy obliterating villages and generally causing a mess back there._

 ** _Indeed. You better get ready. This is going to be delightful._**

Cursing in a language no natural being should be able to speak, Vakarthys continued his way into the dungeons. This source of power might be very useful to enact the plan of his master, perhaps even making the glyphs redundant. While he would not rely on it in any case, something positive might come from this. And if not, he would still get a good fight. For some reason even he didn't' know, his master wanted to use Icecrown, so Vakarthys would show anyone trying to destroy the fortress why messing with his master's plans was a remarkably bad idea.

The mere thought of facing Deathwing caused a twisted smile to appear on his face. It had been very long since Vakarthys had gotten an enemy worthy of his full abilities, and he longed for an actual fight, with actual danger. Of course he had more than one backup plan for the case of him losing, but it would be delicious to feel on edge once again. Great power did have its drawbacks, as so few things were exciting once had reached such potential.

With all the joy of a psychopathic child in room filled with candy, he prepared his most deadly spells and closed his eyes to conjure up the memory from Stormwind, to analyze every picture he remembered for the weakspots of his opponent, where and how the plates were connected to his flesh, how he had moved, how his magical defense had looked and about a dozen other details he had not cared for in the heat of the moment. Every detail might decide the coming duel if it was remembered and used correctly.

Of course his arrival in Icecrown did not remain unnoticed, and he heard many heavy steps approaching. Turning around slowly, he saw the massive frame of the arachnid commander coming out of a corridor to the left.

"Don't worry about the source of magic down there. I will take care of that. You better find some place to find hide in ambush. This fortress will soon enough be attacked." Vakarthys saw no need for an introduction, and since they were technically allies, he could tell them that their doom was approaching rapidly.

Anub'arak stopped as if he had run head first into a wall. "What? Who is attacking us, and where?"

"It's this flying lava blob with the metal jaw who will be here rather soon. I also think there is something else going down soon, just a hunch. You better tell your superiors about this."

If it were not for his exoskeleton, Anub'arak would have turned as pale as the snow outside. He send a flurry of telepathic messages to von Carstein and the Scourge forces in Icecrown. He would not take the words of this bastard as gospel, but this was about Deathwing. There was no room to take chances here.

Vakarthys made his way into the dungeons and soon enough found the remains of the fight between the infiltrators and the guards. The bodies had already been removed, but the blood stains all over the floor and the walls had not been removed, as they were unimportant in a half forgotten dungeon. A single hissed word forced the spirit of one the fallen agents back into the realm of the living. Of course, it tried to resist him, but doing so futile in the face of Vakarthys`overwhelming power. The spirit put up a valiant defense, but another short spell ripped the location of the artifact straight out of its mind. Sending the screaming spirit back into the afterlife, Vakarthys continued his way through the empty corridors, following the stolen memory and ignoring all the activity he felt from the undead above him. Disaster would strike soon enough, and he would love it when the time had come, but this was still business before the fun part began.

The source of magical energy was positioned inside a simple, open iron box placed in one of these empty rooms. As he closed the distance, he realized that he would have to reevaluate the power behind this artifact completely. However had forged had been a true master of the arcane arts, and raw might had not been a problem either. Now he actively wanted it, no matter whether it could provide the energy for the ritual or not, Vakarthys simply wanted to have it. Inside the box, he could see a single shard of glowing, golden metal, and felt the temptation to reach out for it. Yet of course the artifact had been made for one owner and was protected from the hands of others, and his instincts told Vakarthys not to just grap it. Instead he reached out with his own magic, slowly beginning to remove the barriers between him and the power in front of him.

* * *

Above the stormy sea, Deathwing felt how someone tried to grap his beloved weapon, and even more rage filled his already irrational mind. He increased his speed even more, rushing towards Northrend so fast that a normal creature would suffer severe injuries. But the mad aspect was above most of the restrictions of living beings, and even if his speed would begin to rip him apart, he wouldn't care in the slightest. The mere thought of someone else touching his artifact drove nails through his corrupted brain, and the possibility of someone using it...

"This is getting worse by the minute. Vakarthys has shown up in Icecrown, and claims that Deathwing is indeed on the way. We can only hope he needs some time to actually get there." Vlad cursed again. This was getting worse and worse.

His train of thought crashed when a heavily breathing Arygos crash landed on one of the platforms of Naxxramas, an began to drag himself inside. His sudden appearance caused everyone to reach for some sort of weapon, but as they recognized him, they rushed out to bring him inside.

"What are you doing here?" Sindragosa instinctively switched into a motherly voice. "You could have told us that you want to come with us."

"I am fairly certain that I don't want to go to Icecrown. But if this is the Dragonsoul, it is my duty to make sure it is destroyed." Arygos threw distrustful glares at everyone except for his mother. Understandable, but still rude.

"Fine, but will have to trust us to a certain extent if we are to make to through this. The Dragonsoul is already luring Deathwing to Icecrown, and if we are not united, we will die there together."

"Deathwing is coming?" All strength was sapped from Arygos' voice.

"It seems so, and believe me, none of us like it either." Vlad stepped forward and looked Arygos directly in the eye. "But I would be lying if said that we don't have an ace up our sleeve. Sindragosa trusts you, and I trust you won't go against your mother, which is enough to tell you. There is a way Deathwing can be put down, maybe even two. With your support, there is at least a chance to end this mess."

Silence filled the halls of Naxxramas again, the necropolis racing above the frozen ground, it's speed at the very maximum the ancient structure could take. It had never been build to fast, after all. And it was was not alone as it was caught in one of the many snowstorms plaguing Northrend.

A fleet of a dozen airships followed it, keeping enough distance to avoid detection. The destination of the flying fortress was rather obvious, so there was no need to maintain visual contact at all times. They would keep their distance until the right moment came, and then they would strike with all their might.

* * *

"Yesterday, a team of my agents found irrefutable evidence that the Scourge is allied to or serving Deathwing." Shaw paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "Only one of them made it back to report their findings. The Scourge has through unknown means acquired parts of Deathwing's ancient superweapon, the Dragonsoul. This cursed item draws Deathwing to it like a rotting carcass draws a fly. And if Deathwing gets this weapon, the world will quite likely be beyond all possibilities of rescue."

King Varian Wrynn and Lord Tirion Fordring listened to him, and the concern in their faces told Shaw that they did believe him. Time to go all in.

"In a last act of heroic sacrifice, the team managed to sabotage a part of Icecrown's magical defenses. The teleportation screen can be broken through for a few days before the damage will be discovered. If we don't strike now, we might not have a world to save after a few more weeks. I urge you to do exactly that. The Horde believes the Scourge to be their friends, so they will do nothing, and we can't wait for them to open their eyes. The only chance for this world is to get the Dragonsoul out of Deathwing's reach forever."

"When will Deathwing arrive in Icecrown?", Fordring asked quietly, "and how quickly can we get our forces there?"

"We can get the army ready by tomorrow, or perhaps even in this night. We assume that Deathwing will need two or three days, and won't bring any troops with him. Not that he will need an escort as he has the garrison of the Icecrown already there."

"Get the commanders ready, we move out as quickly as possible. The Scourge needs to end anyway, and the sacrifices already made cannot be for nothing."

Wrynn and Fordring left to gather their troops, and Shaw had to suppress a vicious grin. Just as planned. Shaw waited for about ten minutes before leaving his office to meet Borgwen. The two would out of the way within those few days at most, and he had to be ready to fill the gap as soon as it appeared.

The meeting place was an abandoned warehouse, a place so classic that it simply warmed the spymaster's heart. Borgwen was already waiting for him, smiling as the news of the beginning mobilisation of the army.

"I see the plan has been successful. I know you're good, but damn, that was some amazing work."

"Still, I wish we could do this without the deaths of Wrynn and Fordring." They had been over this many times, but Shaw still felt the need to bring it up.

"If only we could. But since we can't, we have to do this in the way we can. They will die the death they wanted, and they will be the great martyrs of the Alliance, heroes for the population to look up to. In their fall, they will make sure the Alliance will bring peace and prosperity to all of Azeroth in the next decade or so."

"I know, but it is still regrettable. At least we can ensure that the prince survives this mess."

"Yes, unless he tries to stop what is necessary. We have gone to far to let anyone interfere with this plan now."

Shaw sighed. "You're right. I'll head back to my office and help get the army ready. A full legion will be on its way by tomorrow."

"Very good. Until then." Shaw turned to leave, his heart as heavy with guilt as it was happy about the plan working out as intended.

He made barely four steps before Borgwen jumped into action. With the speed of a veteran of scores of battles, he drew a double barreled pistol from a holster hidden in his cloak, both hammers already cocked. Shaw's instincts kicked in, but he didn't even manage to reach for his own weapon as Borwgen pulled the first trigger and the pistol roared, the bullet piercing Shaw's chainmail and smashing his spine, sending shards of bone in all directions, puncturing vital organs and tearing through blood vessels. Shaw fell onto his knees, the shock preventing him from even screaming before his torn lung was filled with blood. Borgwen calmly took two steps forward before pulling the other trigger, splattering brain, blood and more bone fragments in the room. The Alliance would rise, under the wise and inspired rule of General Hubert Borgwen. And as with any good plan for a coup, there should be no one involved who was able to grow a conscience prematurely. Or at all, for that matter.

The officer left soon after, taking great care not to step into any puddles of blood. A few of his own men stepped out of the shadows to burn the warehouse to ground. It was another sad necessity to burn a part of his own city down, but this was the equivalent of removing a tumor, painful but important for the greater good. And for this greater good, Director Shaw had just suffered some kind of tragic and fatal accident. Or had he been murdered by the agents of the Horde? Or by the Scourge? Or perhaps by some kind of evil cult? This investigation would of course need some time to be conducted properly and provide plenty of evidence showing the vile evil of all those who opposed the Alliance.

As for himself, he would simply head back to his mansion, to await the orders of his king, orders that were quite likely to never arrive before the king fell. It was indeed a pity that Varian had to die, but victory always required sacrifice, and it only made sense that the greatest and final victory would require the greatest and final sacrifice.

Yet as the warehouse burned down and the body of Director Shaw was turned to ash, the flames would also cripple the Stormwind Intelligence. And the latest report from the surroundings of Ironforge had died with him. Several villages there had been annihilated over night, the only strange sign being a cloud lit up by green lightning, and Shaw had intended to send an investigation team, but now that would not happen, and it would cost the Alliance hundreds of lives in the future. Not that Borgwen cared that much for individual citizens, since in his mind, only the greater good carried significant value.

* * *

The conference in the Wyrmrest Temple had been greatly disturbed, and the fallout was already visible. More than one individual called for an immediate attack on those who had left, while others preached patience. The parts of the Horde under Hellscream had left to, citing general outrage at the perceived uselessness of the summit as their reason. With one group already gone, there was little that could be done to make them stay. The conference was already considered a failure by many of those who had witnessed it, and so few participants saw the need to fight for it. After all, nearly every faction viewed all others as the enemies of the future, and therefore not as trustworthy in any guests had left when the magical signal from the box in Icecrown's dungeons became strong enough to be identified by the inhabitants of the temple, and the reaction was about as positive as it was to be expected. The whole complex exploded in various activities, guards scrambling in all directions to get into position as every higher official was summoned to an emergency meeting. A decision was reached in short order: The presence of the Dragonsoul could not be tolerated under any circumstances, and a strong action was necessary to prevent the Dragonsoul from falling or remaining in the wrong hands. Or claws. Or tentacles for that matter.

The new signal in Icecrown was distorted and grew stronger over time, both making more difficult to find. But Vakarthys had the experience and the fine senses to overcome these obstacles in a short time. He worried more about the increasing strength of this source, as it might turn rather dangerous if not stopped. Any threat to the glyphs would have to be removed before the ritual could be disrupted. Playing time was now over, the gloves were off and Vakarthys would now act with all his skill and might.

Still, this was not a decision to be made lightly, and it did take more time, even though said time was limited resource. Yet in the end, a consensus was reached by the majority of the Wyrmrest Accord. The Dragonsoul would be seized by any and all means necessary, for the safety of all Azeroth, this weapon had to be secured. Malygos and his followers left on their own, unwilling to fight their new allies, but the other flights assembled a task force with all haste. The Lifebinder herself would assume personal command, and they would head out immediately.

They didn't know that the Scourge was just as surprised about the artifact appearing in Icecrown as they were, and that both a fleet of airships and the troops rallying in Stormwind were on the same way with the same intention. In fact, all parties involved in the events to come would not learn of several of the others before things spiraled completely out of control and everything devolved into bloody chaos.

* * *

Far away in their respective lairs, all three schemers grinned as they watched their pawns and agents move. Hubert Borgwen emptied his drink, watching hundreds of men gather in the courtyard of Stormwind Keep, waiting for the mages to teleport them right into Icecrown. Dreadlord Tichondrius laughted quietly in the Twisting Nether, for the few agents he had in high positions had been able to convince Garrosh Hellscream of a deadly conspiracy against the Horde, and the both proud and hotheaded new Warchief had reacted as expected. Varimathras would soon take care of Windrunner, and then the Legion might return in the ensuing chaos. And in the dark depths of Caina, Dahak chuckled and flexed his claw as he saw the armies moving out, awaiting the delightful slaughter that was now certain to take place in Icecrown. Soon enough, this world would bow to him, or it would burn.

But those dark creatures were not the only ones who wished to influence the coming battle, and they would soon seen that their pawns had their own will and their own assets. Varian Wrynn and Tirion Fordring were both determined to succeed and live to tell the tale, and the mighty warriors had faced bad odds very often and had prevailed when all seemed lost. And Fordring now had the wisdom and power of the angel he had met in Dalaran by his side, and said angel had told him that more celestials were coming to aid the Alliance in these dark times.

While Garrosh followed the advice whispered into his ears by Tichondrius and his minions, the Warchief had alienated many members of the Horde with his short temper and overblown ego. Cairne Bloodhoof had already challenged Garrosh for his position, a duel that was to take place as soon as Garrosh returned to Orgrimmar. Other parts of the Horde shared the dislike for the Warchief, and in an act that would be considered treason if revealed, Sylvanas Windrunner snuck into the chambers of Rimefang to tell him of the Warchief's air fleet under the condition that Rimefang would von Carstein to avoid a battle if possible. Perhaps Windrunner felt still indebted to the Lich for the return of her soul, but even if that was the case, the Banshee Queen would never admit it.

And while Dahak had sent one of his two most powerful minions to Icecrown, Vakarthys was neither subtle in his methods nor well liked by those who should serve beside or under him, and no one in Icecrown would shed a tear if he were to fail and die. In fact, this would be met with cheers. The newest recruit, Dargonax, could be send into the fray at Vakarthys' side and probably would, but new recruits tended to be more or less wildcards. Azarneth was still to heavily wounded to join his comrade, and Dahak's other forces were streched thin and could not be weakened any further.

* * *

The streak of good fortune was definitively over. With both Deathwing and Garrosh on the way to Icecrown, the Scourge might very well be doomed. Vlad gave the order to man Acherus completely, as well as for Keleseth to come up with an evacuation plan. Azjol-Nerub came to mind in this regard, but there was no really good choice to be made here, and planning the evacuation of a fortress the size of Icecrown was impossible on such a short notice. Keleseth would try anyway, but there was still the faint hope of being able to hold out. Hope might just be the last to the to die once this ended.

Icecrown was now clearly, and it was not currently burning. A good thing at least, and perhaps a sign that not all was lost for now. The crisis might be able to be brought back under control. This somewhat calming thought however died a swift death when the horizon in the south began to glow in fiery red, and Vlad felt how fear grapped his heart again. He was almost frozen in place, starring at the approaching doom until Sintharia physically shook him out of it.

"This is it, isn't it? The end is near?" Vlad knew that this was not exactly a motivating question, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Perhaps it is. But we can still try to make sure it is not our end." In spite of her own fear, Sintharia spoke with determination. "Sartharion and I will go in first, with Arygos and Sindragosa flying up to attack from above once we got his attention. Youn and Nalice stay back and support us, and try to get Vakarthys into the fight."

"Don't move towards Deathwing. Let him come to Icecrown, into the range of the garrison. It might help at least a little. I'll get Acherus out of here." His shaky voice stabilized. "And if you can't win, retreat. No point in fighting a lost battle, and I care more about you than Icecrown. Just, please stay alive. I might be able to bring you back if you don't but that is not a risk I want to take if there are other options."

"I'll, try, but I am afraid I can't make a promise I might not be able to keep." They kissed once more, perhaps for the last time, although they both hoped for this not to be the case.

Four sets of wings were spread, and their owners set their eyes on the horrizon, now bright red with a visible dark shadow within. Dozens of flying Scourge creatures, Val'kyr, frostwyrms and gargoyles rose from the the towers of Icecrown to support them. Vlad closed his eyes and focused on his magic, before linking his mind to the undead present. Two twilight dragons took position between Naxxramas and the main spire while Naxxramas crossed over the outer walls of Icecrown. In total, the forces at his side made this not look to bad. Deathwing was a single monster, although certainly one to be considered.

Again, the universe seemed to like his confidence at all, as another surge of magical energy erupted in the courtyard below, accompanied by a radiant golden light.

* * *

AN: New chapter as I now have my holidays and was able to write more than usual. We are indeed nearing the end. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Merry Chrismas, may the force be with you, may the light of the Golden Throne guide you, may Dahak's flame torch your foes and, of course, Glory-power to the Horned Rat!


	26. Chapter 25: The beginning of the end

AN: Happy new year everyone!

* * *

The short moment of shocked silence was immediately followed by the roaring sounds of battle. The golden light vanished to reveal a massive formation of Alliance soldiers, probably thousands of them, set up in a solid shield wall and backed up by powerful spells of various kinds. And they did not waste any time, being actually prepared to charge right into the fray.

In this very moment, the mindless puppets of the Scourge got to shine, their lack of any brainpower making them impossible to surprise. Their orders were to rip all intruders to shreds, and they cared not if said intruders just appeared out of thin air. So they charged in and of course, they got butchered. But this was their purpose, and it gave the other undead the small window of time they needed to jump into action as well. Death knights, Darkfallen, Vrykul, Nerubians and cultist formed ranks of their own and advanced to crush the invaders, and every magic user in the citadel ran into a position to let death rain onto the enemy formation. The song of battle filled the air, the clash of blades, the sound of the very same blades cutting through flesh and bone, screams of anger, terror, triumph and pain, the various sounds of deadly magic and the roar of massed gunfire. The frontlines had already made contact, a tight Alliance formation chopping its way through hordes of zombies, while a dome of golden light had formed above them. Spells and projectiles hammered into said dome, dozens at every second, but the defensive spell was too strong to be brought down so easily.

Vlad could see that these enemies held the advantage, and without the fortifications being able to be used properly, the Scourge would not win this battle. The golden dome was certainly kept in place by dozens of wizards or priests and his own magic would not suffice to bring it down. But since this was the battle for Icecrown, Vlad had could not afoot to keep anything back. This was the point were you had to throw everything into the carnage and make it work. So the plan actually intended to take out Dalaran would need to be adapted on the fly, a choice that would surely cause a lot of damage to Icecrown, but might be able to decide this battle before his troops would suffer heavy casualties. With this in mind, Vlad send Naxxramas forward, accelerating the necropolis towards the enemy host, to bury them all under thousands of tonnes of solid stonework.

Yet the Scourge and the Alliance were not the only participants in this mess, and the third party decided to make an entrance with a single, brutal strike. A chunk of burning metal, as large as a carriage and as fast as a ballista bolt was fired at Naxxramas, and the flying fortress was not a target one would miss. Vlad saw the projectile through the eyes of the flying undead, yet their was nothing he could do to stop it. It smashed through the stone walls as if they were made out of wet parchment, even the every stone catching the unnatural fire, and the structural integrity of the necropolis died a painful death. The fortress began to break apart, its ancient magic shattered and massive amounts of stone pulverized. Burning the debris fell from the sky, crushing hundreds of Alliance soldiers and Scourge creatures with the same unstoppable force, and not even the golden dome could prevail against the united might of stone and gravity. Still, the parts not hit by the remains of the fortress stood firm, still protecting the troops underneath from spells and shots.

Vlad jumped from the landing pad of Naxxramas as flames rose all around, turning into a cloud of black smoke just before turning back after hitting the ground behind the Scourge line, Frostmourne in hand. Yet his contribution to this fight would not be his skill with a blade. In a battle like this, a good commander was of far greater value than one man with a sword, no matter how skilled a fighter he was. So Vlad rushed through the lines and the doors of the keep. Anub'arak and Keleseth waited there, and the twin Val'kyr and Rivendare were on the way. The Scourge was in the process of establishing a defense line just behind the gates, to hold the bottleneck here while other in the higher levels of the keep fired out of the windows. If they could hold out here, the Alliance would not be able to use its numbers, the living troops would tire and so they would fall in the end. An optimistic view on the situation, but one that might just come true. Now in the most secure position he could reach in short order, he closed his own eyes to take control of the frontline combatants.

Diving in the carnage, Vlad took direct control over one of the very few flesh constructs that had not been used by the traitor Putricide, smashing massive firsts into the tight formation before him while coordinating other mindless undead to surge forward into any gaps that appeared in the enemy shield wall. And slowly, these gaps began to appear more often as more and more Scourge creatures rushed forward and more of the mages of the garrison fired their strongest spells right into the front line. Those spells killed friend and foe indiscriminately, but mindless slaves cared not if they got blown to bits. But the golden dome was already strained by the Frostbrood and the Val'kyr attacking it from above, and the Alliance was unable to keep the direct spells at bay without risking the collapse of the whole spell. So they did stop the air strikes and took the shots from the front. They could not win a battle of attrition like that, and their leaders knew this. So they reacted, waiting for the next wave of aerial attacks before enacting a short and brutal change in the golden dome, turning it from a defensive screen into a weapon. The golden light rushed forward as a wave, incinerating all undead caught within and freeing the way for the soldiers. All defenders up to a distance of about fifty meters from the shield wall were annihilated, which included even a few flying ones, and the shield wall advanced.

The construct turned to ash and seeing the golden dome reappearing, Vlad could only curse and admire the skills of the enemy. Following a sudden idea he took control of a gargoyle instead. Those flyers were currently rather useless in this battle, unable to breach the golden dome from the sky and fairly unqualified for ground combat. So he let the gargoyle fly directly above the ground, barely above the heads of the combatants, before crashing it into the shield wall. The effect was rather disappointing, and he did not have the numbers to make this work on a large enough scale for the effect to be substantial. So defending the gate of the keep would have to be enough. It was closed by now and the Scourge had positioned a shield wall of their own on the side, let by Anub'arak. When the gate broke, and it was only a question of time, the entry hall would be the killing zone. A few members of the Frostbrood as well as Valiona, Gothik and Lana'thel waited just behind the formation, to use the tight conditions for twilight flame and storms of ice and shadow. Vlad himself began the spell known as Vanhel's Dance Macabre, to increase the strength and speed of the death knights to even higher superhuman standards. Rivendare and a full company stayed behind to reinforce any parts of the line who might falter. It would show if this was enough, as the gate was hit by a terrifying force and dented inward.

The time for direct control was over. Vlad began to chant yet another spell while slowly drawing Frostmourne, ready to face whatever the Alliance would throw at them. For some reason, he was sure that it would not only be normal soldiers, but something far more threatening. A strange aura of uncomfortable holiness filled the air, and the gates began to give way.

* * *

Sindragosa looked down on the whole disaster from her high position, and unparalleled view on the progressively worsening bloody mess down below. Yet she did not focus on the battle down there, her eyes solely focused on the south. Deathwing was now visible in all his terrifying, twisted glory. Arygos was on her left side, and Sartharion and Sintharia had circled around the main spire, preferring to stay out of the field of view of the mad aspect. Deathwing was still racing towards Icecrown, his glowing red eyes staring straight through the saronite. Yet his situational awareness would suffer greatly from this, and Sindragosa was ready to land on his neck the moment she got the right chance. But she was not the only one willing to rip the insane aspect to shreds. Just before he came into the right place for her to dive down, a massive red shape rose from Icecrown, swift as lightning, and Deathwing changed course to face this new threat head on. The two great shapes crashed into each other, and Deathwing's greater momentum caused both of them to crash into one of the courtyards of the fortress below.

Well, that was both unexpected and helpful. Since the creature she assumed to be Vakarthys' true form took care of Deathwing, she switched target to the Alliance forces. Arygos followed her as she dove down, unleashing her freezing breath at the enemy troops, and her son fired a storm of arcane energy at the very same target. Most of the deadly dragon breath was stopped by the remains of the golden dome, but the parts that got through killed everyone they hit. A volley of musket fire rose in return, but was unable to cause more than a few scratches on the two flying attackers. The priest of the enemy had more success, their prayers only barely stopped by a hasty defensive spell, and at least one slipped through and blackened some of Sindragosa's exposed bones. Not a serious injury, but a beginning.

Rising up after the dive, she glanced over to the courtyard were Deathwing and Vakarthys had crashed, but their fight spread huge clouds of smoke and fire in all directions, hiding their duel from all outside eyes. But since joining this was probably a ticket to the afterlife, she turned around to dive down again when she heard a the thunder of a large blackpowder weapon, and a cannonball narrowly missed her tail. Spinning around, she could see an airship leaving the clouds in the southwest, and another one appearing on its left. Then another one, and another one. All in all, a full dozen of the flying vessels approached and fired their weapons at the towers, destroying the two closest ones.

"We have to take care of this. Follow me!" Sindragosa rose again, trying to gain altitude as swiftly as possible.

"We two against the entire fleet?" Arygos was wondering if his mother had lost her mind in her undead state, but then he realized what she intended. Those airships were unable to fire upwards, so if they got above them, they could attack without worrying about a retaliation. So he followed her higher into the sky, through the strong winds, avoiding the next volley of fire as he did. It was blessing that those cannons were not made to hit fast moving targets.

Looking back again, things were looking grim, but relatively stable. The Alliance was assaulting the gates of the keep, and Sartharion and Sintharia were cycling above the enemy formation, to bathe them in flame once the golden dome was weakened. And it would have to be weakened when the gates broke, as the Alliance would have to focus their shields to the front unless they wanted to face the full might of all the spellcasters inside. Both options would be devastating, and they would get to play one of them.

Turning her attention back to airships, she saw that the fleet had split into two groups, one remaining in place, continuing to fire at the outer walls, the second one advanced further, their cannons blasting the entire fortress, although this was mostly due to them not being able to aim well while moving at full speed. They seemed to ignore the flying defenders for now, probably as they realized that there was very little they could actually do. This should turn out to be their doom as Sindragosa swoop over their balloons and fired her breath weapon again. A cone of large shards of ice, fast as arrows and hard as steel hammered into the armored cover over those gas containers, and while many of them bounced of the metal plating, quite a few it punch through and gas began to leak out. Arygos followed her first attack by firing a stream of pure arcane power into the leading ship, and this proofed to be the better choice as the ray burned through the balloon and body in one go, causing the gas to explode violently, sending scraps of the ship and crewmembers flying in all direction, some of them burning as well.

 _Seems my son learned well. If this is how this goes, we will all make it through this._

But the crews of those airships had no interest in being blown out of the sky, and so they did react with everything they could. Archers and gunmen lined up and fired, handheld weapons circumventing the problems the cannons had with targets above, and magic users joined them. Their firepower was not even close to that of the ship's main guns, but it was still considerable and their only real option aside from fleeing. The next strafing run would be faced with massed firepower and everything else the crews could throw at the their enemies.

Arygos took the lead in the next attack, striking from even greater altitude to make sure the twin balloons of the first airship blocked the line of sight of the gunners, and fired yet another ray of arcane destruction through the balloons and the deck, straight down into the bomb bay. The ship turned into a rapidly expanding cloud of fire and shrapnel. Said shrapnel slashed into the ship on the left of the targeted one, spreading the flame even further. The pressure wave of the explosion shook the ships close by, and the formerly orderly ranks of archers were thrown in complete disarray, some of them even going overboard.

Seeing the chance Arygos had created for her, Sindragosa charged in before the enemy could reestablish order, digging her front claws through the armor of one of the two balloons of one of the remaining ships, and smashing her spiked tail through the other one. With both balloons torn, the ship began to fall, yet another ship going down. Three down, nine to go. Not exactly encouraging, but a step in the right direction.

Arrows and bullets bounced of her bones, not causing significant damage, but more deadly projectiles followed suit in the shape of a volley of fireballs and arcane missiles. Instinctively, she closed her wings and dropped, dodging the spells. Yet while this put her out of the way of this attack, it was a mistake as it did put her in the line of fire of the enemies main guns. The cannons roared, and while most of the shots missed as the gunners, a few did not. A cannonball tore through her left wing, and two more smashed into her ribcage, shattering bones and sending her tumbling further downwards. The frozen ground came closer and closer, yet Sindragosa was not quite done. He spread her wings again, and since her flight capability was supernatural anyway, she did manage to stop her uncontrolled fall and rise again.

* * *

A claw tore into his side, spilling blood over the ground. His own jaws closed around the leg this claw was attached to and he felt how his fangs made contact with bone. His tail bashed his foe's head to the side before it could bite into his neck. He withdrew, letting go of his enemy's leg before both them moved back, ready to charge again. More burning blood melted the snow in the courtyard, and both combatants were breathing heavily, yet they were both ready and willing for the next round. Hissing and growling, both moved slowly towards each other.

Vakarthys knew he had a good fight before him, one that was actually dangerous. His enemy was equally strong and far more resilient than he was, but his rage could be exploited. Even now, Deathwing was constantly ranting about impending doom, endless suffering and his own superiority, seemingly unaware that this was detrimental to his performance. If the mad aspect would have fought with a focused mind, this duel would not have lasted very long.

"Is this all you got?", Vakarhtys asked in his most mocking tone, ignoring the blood flowing from his wounds. "If you are supposed to the prime creature of the superior species, I can see why it is dying out."

The answer was a mostly unintelligible roaring and growling, but the last part was somewhat understandable, something more about the inevitable death and previous great suffering of all those who would stand in his way. Deathwing was now frothing at the mouth and breathing even faster and heavier, his eyes staring straight through Vakarthys. He would attack again, but he could be made even angrier and even less controlled.

"And the worst thing about you is that all this is not even your work at all. You are a puppet, not better than the lowest zombie! So utterly pathetic that you consigned even your own kin to fall with you! You thing yourself the greatest being, but you are nothing but an empty shell! I would feel pity for you if were slightly less disgusting!" The insults worked their wonder, and Deathwing charged without thinking and without a magical defense. With a grim smile, Vakarthys used the gap in front of him, turning part of the snow around him into a solid spear of ice before launching it into Deathwing's side, piercing both scales and elementium plating before coming to rest deeply buried inside his corrupted flesh.

The wound itself was trivial for the berserker, but the spear in his side made it difficult to maneuver and impossible to dodge Vakarthys' breath as he fired lightning at Deathwing, blasting several of the plates protecting his chest and the side of his neck away. A swift strike slashed a claw into the now exposed neck, splashing even more lava-like blood in a wide arc. Deathwing struck back, and Vakarthys jumped to the side, avoiding most of the blow, although the tips of the talons scratched Vakarthys' flank. The next set of strikes passed without to much effect, both combatants landing only glancing hits and causing only superficial damage. Both reflexively used fire against each other, and both realized instantly that their opponent was utterly immune to fire. Deathwing still tried it again, blind fury causing him to ignore common sense in favor of an easy way to went his frustration.

More lighting struck Deathwing, along with a directed wave of necromantic energy. More plates were damaged, more scales demolished, but once again Deathwing felt no pain and rushed forward, not caring about the blood his was loosing. The bombardment of spells continued, unable to stop the mad aspects in spite of the holes it tore into his body. So they connected again, and still, Deathwing got more than he gave. But since any injury that was not immediately crippling or fatal didn't even slow him down, he could afford to miss a few blows. He had the full backing of the old gods behind him, a massive reserve of lifeforce and power to draw from to starve off both wounds and exhaustion easily and far longer than any enemy would.

Feeling how his own wounds began to take their toll, Vakarthys chose the way in which he would level the playing field. The easy method would be to channel his master's power through him in the same way Deathwing used the power of the old gods, but that would take the fun out. So did something slightly different, calling for his master to cut the link between the puppet and its puppeteers. Since Dahak was not on Azeroth, this would not hold for long, but long enough.

The expression on Deathwing's face alone was worth it when his well of seemingly infinite power suddenly dried out, and blood he lost began to matter. He was surprised, and Vakarthys didn't want for him to recover. A first claw hit Deathwing in the chest, a tail strike to head followed, and as the aspect staggered backwards, Vakarthys sank his teeth into his wing and broke the bone between his jaws.

The aspect roared and got back into the fight, simply launching himself forward and grappling Vakarthys. They rolled through the courtyard like two oversized, fighting cats, using every single limb as a weapon and leaving even more searing, caustic blood all over the place. The snow in the courtyard was nearly completely burned away, and the stone beneath blackened and cracked.

All around them they could barely hear the battle, screaming and the clash of weapons, while the cannons of the airships and the strongest spells were more audible. Still neither of the two paid the slaughter any mind, completely focused on their duel. Tearing at each other they rolled against the outer wall, shaking the structure. The impact gave Vakarthys the opportunity to break out of the grapple as Deathwing had hit his head against the wall and was momentarily stunned.

 _Seems his skull his not that hard._

Vakarthys narrowly dodged a swipe of Deathwing's bladed tailtip as his enemy got back on his feet. Hard skull or not, Deathwing was a tough customer and had apparently recovered from being cut off from the old gods quite well, even better than expected. Still, he was still somewhat dizzy and Vakarthys took the chance to fire another bolt of magic into his enemy's back, breaking yet another elementium plate and causing more of the same, caustic and burning blood to flow. Yet it seemed Deathwing still had no shortage of that poisonous stuff and his psychotic rage was enough to keep him running in spite of the already grievous injuries he had sustained. He should be bleeding out and yet he somehow continued to fight. His tenacity was something Vakarthys had to respect, no matter how many problems it caused for him.

Not that it mattered that much, since Deathwing was the only real threat here and Vakarthys could handle him. The new recruit had been summoned and was closing in on the Dragonsoul, and so victory was within their reach. The glyphs were working as intended, gathering vast amounts of energy from the carnage all around. Soon enough, it would suffice for its purpose. Dahak would be able to physically enter this world and once he did, any resistance to his rule would swiftly and effortlessly be turned to ash. Once this crazy fool was dealt with, Vakarthys would focus on beginning the spell to break the barriers between Caina and this world.

* * *

As their primary target was taken care of by Vakarthys and none of them actually wanted to face Deathwing in open battle, Sartharion and Sintharia decided to split up. Sartharion raced into the spire in search for the Dragonsoul while Sintharia strafed the Alliance together with the Frostbrood. The golden dome was largely collapsed, but its remnants still blocked quite a bit of the rain of death. No matter how foolish and shortsighted the Alliance could be, many them were capable in their chosen field, which so often happened to be making a mess out of their enemies' plans. But the part of the icy air and twilight flame that got thorough caused massive casualties in the tight formation, shields and armor unable to protect against dragon's breath. The return followed suit, those soldiers not inside of the keeping throwing everything they had into the sky.

It was a general surprise when the first cannonball tore through their ranks, sending limbs and pieces of armor flying. And it was not an isolated incident, as a full volley followed the first shot. The arrival of airships above the outer walls was not a pleasant turn of events for the first group of attackers. The gunners of said airships seemed not to care about the exact target of their shots, preferring to simply fire all their weapons in the general direction of the keep with no interest in who might be hit. Sintharia would have almost felt pity for those bastards down there, seeing how they got shot to pieces without any way of fleeing or striking back. Almost, so she fired her breath again, supported by a few offensive spells, wreaking havoc among the right flank of the Alliance infantry.

Something smashed into her right flank, breaking scales and diving deep into her flesh. The pain was so strong that she forgot to breathe for a moment and nearly fell out of the sky. She dropped onto one of the landing pads of the spire, unable to stay in the air for now. Her instincts made her jump to the side and by doing so she narrowly avoided a glowing, golden arrow that would have otherwise hit her skull. Its impact against the saronite wall looked like that of a cannon being fired at point blank range, and Sintharia shivered as she imagined the result of being hit by something like this. She could see the effect on her body, the projectile was stuck in her side to the feathers, and it burned. Without even considering the consequences, she ripped it out and began a healing spell as she moved inside, hoping to break the archer's line of fire. The spell did its work, but the internal damage was even worse than the one on the surface and there was no doubt that a really good hit by such a shot would have killed her. The question was: Who had fired it? And what would the safest way to ensure the archer never tried this again?

She moved down through the spire, continuing the healing spell until her wound stopped to bleed. The Dragonsoul was somewhere in the dungeons below, and there was no time to lose by now. Descending down the main staircase, she could feel the air vibrating with dark power, dark even by her standards. It was probably the effect of the glyphs Vakarthys had placed there. The amount of power gathered here was simply enormous, and Sintharia wondered what a maniac like Vakarthys would want with all of it. If they survived this day, they would have to take care of him swiftly before he could put it to a certainly sinister purpose.

* * *

Sartharion had already moved down into the dungeons in search for the Dragonsoul. He was much closer, he could feel the corrupted magic seeping out of his containment. It was quiet down here, the massive walls keeping the sounds of the battle outside and all guards who had been posted in the dungeons had been send into the frontline above. The unite building was vibrating with thoroughly dark magic, and Sartharion new that one of the glyphs of Vakarthys was also very close. However, he was not alone either, there was someone else nearby and Sartharion was willing to bet that it was not friendly. He was proven correct when a golden arrow was stopped by his magic defense in flash of light.

The archer didn't really step into the light, he was the light. A humanoid shape, maybe three or four meters tall and glad in shining, golden plate armor, a longbow in hands and a greatsword at his side, but the most impressive feature were the three pairs of feathered wings on his back. As they made eye contact, the strange creature began to grow to an even greater height, until he could match that of Sartharion. Then, he dropped the bow and drew his weapon, but the bow did not fall, instead hovering next to his master.

"You shall be purged, spawn of the Sorrowmaker! Your reign of blood ends now!" A very clear. booming voice coming out of the glowing helmet.

"What are you talking out?" Sartharion was really confused by what the creature said, but this might be the chance he needed to get rid of his foe while he was busy explaining his supposedly righteous cause.

The strange being stopped dead in his tracks, apparently unsure what to do now. Sartharion didn't relax in the slightest, preparing to tear this creature limb from limb.

"I sense no lie in your words. What is the meaning of this, corrupted one?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know who or what you are, and your motivations are unknown to me. Yet you shot first and now you stand in my way. Leave, and you may do so unharmed."

"You are the one who has to leave. This place will be purged of its corruption, and all who defend it..." The creature was not able to finish his sentence as Sartharion saw this was going nowhere and fired his breath, bathing the creature and its surroundings in twilight flame. The creature screamed in pain and anger, but the flame was not enough to put it down, and so it charged in turn, its greatsword risen to strike. Sartharion continued the stream of dark fire while readying his claws for melee. While the twilight flame was unable to just kill the creature, it did wound it and even more importantly, the creature could not see well through the fire. With no intention to fight fair or honorable, Sartharion struck through the flames, his right front claw slashing through the armor covering his enemy's left leg and the armor covering it. The creature answered in kind, the massive blade in his hands aimed at Sartharion's head. He threw himself to the side, and the weapon barely scratched its target, but dragon scales seemed unable to stop the glowing weapon.

His enemy was no stranger to dirty fighting however, and to Sartharion' painful surprise, the hovering bow fired on its own, an arrow of solid golden light appearing out of thin air as the string was pulled back by an invisible force. And the bow did not stop after the first arrow.


	27. Chapter 26: The End and the aftermath

Sintharia heard the sounds of fighting in her immediate vicinity, but she could not spare any time to investigate it. Whoever would get his or her hands on the Dragonsoul might be able to decide this battle alone, and letting an enemy do so was no option. So she ignored the sound of the explosions nearby and continued her way downwards, feeling how the cursed artefact's aura became stronger with every step she took. Whatever had hidden the cursed thing in the first place was now gone, and it was easy to find the right way. However, this would be true for anyone searching and the one who arrived first could either grap the artefact and run, prepare an ambush for everyone else or perhaps even try to take full control of this power source. All three were bad for her if used by someone else, so she rushed further through the empty corridors, cursing their size for being to small for her to fly and forcing herself not to think about the fates of the others.

 _They know how to fight and when to flee, and the Alliance can't hope to match the Scourge in Icecrown. Neither can the Horde with the troops they have here._

She kept telling herself that, but deep down, she expected to be wrong. The Alliance was not insane enough to try to take Icecrown without any chance of actually doing so, and while Hellscream might be willing to try it anyway, he would find very few supporters given that the Horde and the Scourge had signed a treaty and were supposed to be allies. He probably only had his personal army with him, and while these warriors were certainly deadly, they were few.

 _How long will they be able to keep this up? Their losses have to be staggering. Have their commanders completely lost their mind?_

The sounds of the battle died down as she moved deeper and deeper into the dungeons, not even the roar of the cannons able to get through the walls and the ground. Only at one point, a particularly massive explosion was audible, but since the ground was not shaking, it had to be a good distance away. Still, it was a worrying development, and these quiet halls were not exactly comforting either, their lack of obvious danger making it just possible to worry about the others while enough concern about infiltrators and the like remained to make one place every step in the expectation of being attacked.

The aura of the Dragonsoul was now so strong that it could have been felt by someone with not even the slightest hint of magical talent, and she knew she was close. Only a few minutes later, she could see the golden shard of the broken artefact, hovering above a simple looking iron box. Sintharia began to wonder how she would be able to actually shut the cursed thing down. She didn't want to touch the corrupted metal if she was able to avoid it, but she would if necessary. Still, the spells placed upon it would be there to prevent anyone except for Deathwing from using it, perhaps even cause a violent reaction to any contact, and if this would access the entire power of the artefact, it might be able to bring all of Icecrown down.

 _Damn, stay calm! It's not like have never handled this very damned item before, and without any problem!Of course, she had been controlled by the very same monsters who dictated Deathwing's every thought, and those voices had told her exactly how to use the ancient weapon with it blowing something up. Her attempts of calming herself failing miserably, she slowly forced herself to approach the cursed thing. Her caution might have saved, although it was not the artefact to pose the danger here. Another dragon had entered this part of the dungeon, by stepping straight through the saronite wall. And it was someone she knew, someone she had thought to have died in the very same moment she had found her first end._

"Dargonax? How are you here? You died in Grim Batol!"

The twilight dragon twisted his expression into a murderous smirk. "Thanks for that, mother. I have brought back, just like you. And now, it is time for you to go back to the other side. Die!"

A stream of twilight flame erupted from his maw, but Sintharia had also gotten mastery over this kind of fire, and so she forced the inferno to flow around her without touching her, and even if it had, the dark flame was not very threatening for her.

"No, my treacherous child, I will not die today. I makes me sad that you became a monster because of me, but I will put you down if need be. Leave, or stay out of my way and you will not be harmed. I'll forgive this" she looked at the scorch marks on the walls and the floor, "as the overconfidence and bad judgement of a child. Make your choice."

Dargonax grinned like a walking nightmare. "My choice has long been made, mother. The Dragonsoul will be mine, and you will die here."

"Why?" Sintharia knew that he was an insane megalomaniac and would not need a reason to kill anyone, but she could use the time to study his movements. This would end in blood and death, no matter what she tried to say. So the best choice was to take every advantage she might be to get.

"Why not? It is a source of great power, and all those who could take it from me are far from able to reach it. Deathwing and this fool Vakarthys are busy killing each other, and the defenders of Icecrown are locked in battle. You are the only one standing between me and the rulership of this world, and I have enough reason to kill you even without this fact."

"So you are betraying Vakarthys and his master? I thought you were much smarter than this." Sintharia growled and hissed, showing her own teeth in the process. "And don't think I will just lie down and die. You don't have your old abilities, I can feel that, and I am far stronger than I was the last time we met. If you want another taste of death, try me."

It was deeply satisfying to see the smug expression on Dargonax' face take a hit from the confidence in her last words. Typical for his kind of sadist, he was for the most part brave as long as his supposed victim was scared and he held the advantage, but a return of his threats was something he was not used to.

But while this didn't go the way Dargonax wanted it to, he would not just back down. He growled again and advanced slowly, carefully monitoring her every move, and she did the same thing, both hesitant to charge and expose themselves. Whoever attacked first would allow the other to potentially seize the advantage in this fight. Dargonax lacked practical experience, and his hubris and lust for power overruled his instincts. He charged in, turning incorporeal to close the distance without taking a risk. A good choice to circumvent the classical drawbacks of a charge, but one that could be countered with experience and the necessary skills.

Sintharia knew that while Dargonax had great magical potential and his incorporeal form would allow him to win an easy victory if she would let him. However, their physical strength was evenly matched, and here, Dargonax' inexperience was the key to her victory. Her original plan had keen to create a zone of antimagic, to make this a purely physical confrontation. But for all her harsh words, she didn't really want to kill him, as he was her son in a way. So she wanted to take him out without resorting to lethal force. She did have an idea to make that happen, but it required Dargonax to play along in a certain way. If she put enough pressure on him before applying the antimagic, Dargonax would be stopped alive, to be taken care of after the rest of the current crisis was dealt with.

They traded the first few blows, both of them drawing blood within the first seconds, before separating again.

"Well, mother, it seems you did learn a few things. It won't save you!"

Dargonax tried to make sure his gloating was an accurate statement, but again failed to land the devastating hit he wanted and needed while again being struck in return. So he did use his natural abilities to go around the trouble he faced, turning incorporeal and simply slipping into the stone floor, intending to strike from there with no chance for his mother to stop him or attack him before he was in the perfect position. Yet as he sank into the ground, still smirking, Sintharia did put her own plan in motion and activated the antimagic zone. The expression on his face was worth as much as Icecrown when he realized that his body was now trapped, sunk halfway into the floor, with no chance to get out. Now it was Sintharia's turn to grin.

"Stay where you are, I'll have time for you soon enough."

She rushed past him while he stared at her, mouth agape, and focused on the shard of the Dragonsoul. All she had to do now was to shut the damned thing down before heading back up again.

 _No pressure. This might only result in the death of every single being in this fortress.  
_

The angry, helpless roar of Dargonax in her ears, she directed her magical senses at the cursed item in front of her. The spells that protected the artefact were already somewhat damaged, and Sintharia was relieved to see that at least a few of the events of this day had happened in her favor.

* * *

The first men charged into the keep, and the first men died. The moment they moved through the shattered gates they marched into a storm of ice, blood magic, necrotic energy and saronite arrows, mowing the soldiers down in droves as the golden dome finally fell apart, being attacked by both the Scourge flyers and the mages inside. The intruders stood no chance trying to take the chokepoint, unable to use their superior numbers against the death knights and Anub'arak in close quarters.

Yet the Alliance also had a few tricks up their sleeve and were determined to prevail here. They did think that this was perhaps the last chance to save all of Azeroth, and as a result, they could not retreat until their mission was successful. So they reformed their formation and charged forward again, climbing over their own dead whenever necessary. The Scourge rose some of the fresh corpses, but with their necromancers mostly focused on keeping their elite troops functional and killing their enemies, the number of fresh zombies was large enough to be a proper threat.

Vlad had just finished his last spell when the Alliance did play one of their aces. The aura of holiness got much, much worse and bright light filled the room. The undead began to slowly retreat, all their survival instincts telling them to run as fast as they could. For the moment, discipline held.

Then a flash of even brighter light blinded everyone who could see it, and Anub'arak fell, his thorax severed from the rest of body, all limbs frantically moving before they realized they were dead, and discipline went to hell with no intention to return. Most the Scourge creatures who where not mindless fled, and Vlad could not really blame nor stop them. A single strike to put the Spiderlord down had to came from someone nobody sane wanted to face. The one who had struck Anub'arak stepped into the keep alone, even his own troops scared by his obvious power.

Vlad had seen this person before, it was the old paladin who had accompanied King Wrynn to the walls of Stormwind, only that the old man was now entirely surrounded by golden force field, spider blood being burned on his strangely shaped blade. Still, him standing there alone for now gave Vlad a window to use and he would not waste it.

Raising both hands and shouting a single word of power, Vlad hurled his magic forward, a wave of necrotic black smoke able to sear flesh from bone. It did not manage to break the paladin's defence, but it did hit its actual target, and the ceiling above the spire gate collapsed, blocking the entry. Vlad had a faint hope that the tons of debris might bury the paladin, but when the dust began to settle, the old man in the golden force sphere still stood unharmed.

 _Run, scatter, and hide when you can. Fight only if you can be victorious._

Vlad sent the message to all of his remaining troops, seeing no point in just throwing their lifes away. If there were any survivors after this day, they would reorganise while their enemies were busy licking their own wounds. Steeling his nerve, Vlad rose Frostmourne to a formal salute was the old paladin stepped forward.

"All this death, and for what? I don't serve Deathwing, and I learned of this artefact only a few hours before everyone else did." Vlad made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice, and with every word, he felt his own wrath burning hotter and hotter. He knew that his anger had gotten him into quite a few problems back home in Sylvania, and he had worked hard to improve his impulse control, but right now, there was no reason to hold back.

"Not that it matters anymore. This will be your tomb, and Stormwind will burn for what you and your followers did here today. We undead do have a lot of time, and we don't forgive and don't forget. If any of your men get back home, let them tell how you summoned your doom."

Vlad hissed and showed his fangs.

"Let's get this over with."

Not waiting for another spell, the old paladin, Fordring if Vlad remembered his name correctly, charged, his blade risen and aimed to strike at Vlad's head. The parry told the Lich King that the paladin had found something to circumvent the weakness of his mortal shell, as moved too fast for an old man and his strength send Vlad stumbling backwards, even though the parry itself had been flawlessly executed.

Vlad turned to smoke to avoid the next two blows before assuming a solid form again and striking back. Yet even though the paladin was unable to party, the force field surrounding the old man stopped Frostmourne. Vlad got a second hit in and this one caused some cracks to appear in the golden sphere. Fordring turned around and slashed at his face, and while Vlad managed to duck, the holiness of the paladin's sword was nearly able to burn his face and hair as it passed by.

Avoiding two more swings, Vlad could only curse as the cracks in the force sphere closed already. So he fired yet another spell, this time taking more direct aim at the paladin. Red bolts of necrotic energy bounced of the force sphere, although they did create a few more cracks in golden light. It was a start, at least. He didn't get the time for a second spell before the paladin was again ready to attack, and Vlad parried more careful this time, although the strength of his enemy was still terrifying. He was lucky enough that Fordring was unable or unwilling to use magic on his own. Seeing that this fight would not go too well for him if it continued like this, Vlad reached out to a few of the surviving Scourge creatures. He found a few ones, at some of them even answered the call. If he would survived this fight for a little longer, he might be able to turn the tables on Fordring. Not very honourable to finish by calling in backup, but Vlad didn't care about honour right now.

Surviving just a little longer proved to be a difficult job on its own, as the paladin appeared to be rather determined to make sure he didn't. Dodging another series of deadly strikes of the holy blade, he once again created a few cracks in the regenerating force shield, but was still unable to break through the magical defence. Yet another brutal strike hit Frostmourne, breaking his grip of the old runeblade and sending it flying against the wall. With no chance to get the weapon back in time, Vlad summoned Blood Drinker from his pocket dimension and struck while the old paladin was a little surprised to see a sword appearing out of thin air. The hit made sure the damage to the force sphere stayed.

Damn, I should have thought about that sooner. The paladin was probably well prepared to face Frostmourne and its magic, so using a different weapon would circumvent his preparations. Fordring took a step back as the blade hit the force sphere, which allowed Vlad to get another spell off, and this pushed the sphere to the breaking point. Fordring reacted, changed his own spell to avoid its destruction, and the sphere turned into a hemisphere that project the paladin only from the front, but it did still protect him and Vlad would struggle to get past it. And even if he got past it, the paladin was also completely covered in plate armor, except for his face.

Fordring was more careful now, not sure how to handle his opponent's new weapon and worried about the magic his enemy had fired at him. Vlad was very glad, as he knew that Blood Drinker was weaker than Frostmourne. It might struggle to resist the obviously great power of the holy blade the paladin swung at his face. His own strike again barely scratched the shield of the old man. At least, his backup was already on the way, and once those reinforcements had arrived, the tide would turn. Hopefully.

* * *

The next airship turned to burning scrap and began to drop, crewmembers jumping to a swift death rather than being roasted alive by the increasingly terrifying inferno. Another one fell without the fire, its balloons torn and the gas leaking out. The flames didn't stay away for long, as some kind of spark found the cloud of gas and set everything within more than thirty meters alight. More crewmembers tried to shoot the attackers down and failed, their handheld weapons unable to do any noteworthy damage to the frostwyrm and the blue dragon. In addition to the peril of the airships, the other Scourge flyers were now assaulting them as well, dozens of them clawing at the balloons and crews of the mighty vehicles. As those creatures were much smaller, many of them were shot down, but enough of them survived to bring the vessels down.

On the bridge of his flagship, Warchief Garrosh Hellscream could only watch in bottomless rage as the flying swarm of undead monsters rushed his fleet, ignoring their own losses to rip through his forces. The archers on his own ship did what they could, and the flagship was larger and heavier armored than the others, but even with his great pride he could tell that this battle was lost for him. He growled the necessary orders to the officers close by, his anger making his words barely comprehensible, but their intention was clear enough. Seeing the living blue dragon approaching, Garrosh knew he had to stop the creature before its arcane breath would blow the entire ship to bits. An idea formed in his mind, daring and effective, just like any of his plans should be.

The crew could only stare in terror as the Warchief hurled his axe into one of the balloons of his own ship, and the powerful weapon cut straight through the armor plating. The leaking gas caused the ship to heel to the left and lose altitude, but heeling also put the blue dragon into the firing arc of the ship's primary broadside gun battery, and Garrosh wasted no time to give the firing order. Dozens of cannonballs flew towards the dragon, and Garrosh grinned, knowing that no living creature was even remotely able to survive such a barrage at this kind of range.

Sindragosa saw the danger closing in on Arygos and reacted without thinking. She barely realized that she had casted the teleportation midflight, and she tackled Arygos out of the way of the incoming cannonballs. It worked partially, about half of the shots missed. The other half hammered into her skeletal body, and accompanied by the sound of shattering bones, the world went dark.

Arygos acted in a similar fashion, grabbing the body of his mother and putting it to use, teleporting of them to the nearest halfway secure location, which was Acherus in this case. The combination of the shock and the stress to break through the teleportation barrier of the necropolis was enough to knock him out in the process.

* * *

As the second arrow struck him in the neck, Sartharion knew he had to finish this immediately, or he would not see the end of this fight at all. Caution would not save him here, only a swift victory might. He covered his enemy in fire again, causing minor injuries in addition to blocking his sight. Sartharion pounced at the unknown being, the claws of all six limbs reaching for the golden armor and the flesh underneath. The celestial brought his massive sword in position while the hovering bow fired another handful of shots, but it was not enough. Sartharion crashed into the celestial, and while his claws were largely ineffective, the dragon closed his jaws around the celestial's head and crushed the helmet and skull in one brutal motion. The golden figure let out a single, strange scream before vanishing in a flash of light, its physical form destroyed.

The victory would be short lived, as the while the celestial was dead, his aim had also been true, its sword thrust through the scales on Sartharion's chest. It was a fatal wound, no doubts about it, and Sartharion only had the strength left to delay his death, not enough to prevent it. In the hope of meeting someone who would be, he limbed onwards, leaving a trail of blood on the stone floor. He would not get very far, getting weaker with every step he took. These parts of the fortress were abandoned, empty. There would be no one here to help him, and no one to watch him die here.

After a time that felt like hours, although only a few minutes could actually have passed, Sartharion felt a source of power nearby, and he could sense that it was not the Dragonsoul. Forcing his eyes to focus long enough for his blurry vision to clear somewhat, he was able to recognize it as one of Vakarthys' glyphs, glowing red on the saronite. He reached out for the power so close and failed, the spell that was too strong for a healthy Sindragosa far out of his league and even further in his miserable state.

 _So this is the end. Stabbed through the chest by some outerwordly creature unlike everyone if have ever seen, because it couldn't tell who its enemies are. A pity. Bleeding out so close to a source of unimaginable power, so much power in fact that the saronite around the glyph is beginning to melt. So close yet so far, a few meters away yet completely out of reach. If the others make it make, I guess my sacrifice fulfilled its purpose. But who am I kidding? None of us will succeed here, not with all our foes striking at once._

He stared at the glyph, wondering how the spells within were able to generate so much power from the carnage without the use of any sort of ritual. This should not be possible, but it mattered not. Again, he tried to find a way to access it, only to find it still surounded by other spells meant to prevent exactly that.

 _If only I could do the same thing. A neat way to solve the problems I currently have._

 ** _Who says you can't? And why would you need to? You have all the power you need just a single request away._**

 _Why should I trust an offer made to me while I'm dying any more than your earlier proposals?_

 ** _I'm not saying you should. That would be a sign of you being a fool. But tell me, what other choice to you have except for bleeding out? That gaping hole in your chest is not going to fix itself._**

An idea came into his mind, based on the voice in his head not being careful enough in his choice of words. _Why not try it? It's not like I have much to lose by trying._ With that in mind, Sartharion stabbed on his talons into his own front leg. Hissing in pain, he began to cut, to carve a copy of the glyph on the wall into his own flesh. If he interpreted the words of the voice correctly, he could perhaps simply duplicate the spell. The weave of the spell on the wall was almost exclusively meant to protect the glyph, and it dawned to him that they had looked in the wrong direction when they had examined head. Using up the remains of his strength, he saw that the spell to generate power from bloodshed was not complex at all. In spite of all the pain, he grinned as he continued his work.

 _ **What are you doing?**_ The voice seemed to recognize it a few seconds later, and Sartharion wished he was able to see the puzzled face its owner made. _**Stop that!**_

 _No._ Never before had a single word been so satisfactory. The glyph in his flesh was an inferior copy of the original, but as Sartharion finished the pathetically weak spell that were the extent of his current abilities, he felt that it worked.

Magical power surged into his body, more power than he had ever had at his disposal. The fatal wound he had been unable to heal was now a mild inconvenience at worst, cured entirely with a single dedicated thought. He could feel the voice fleeing his mind in anger, and he made his way towards the Dragonsoul again. After only a few steps, he realized that the power he received was more than his body could handle. He covered himself in an aura of deadly heat, not to harm enemies but simply to vent some of the magical energy streaming into him. For the same purpose, he placed half a dozen of protective spells on him, but all of this would only be temporarily solutions. _  
_

* * *

Spending only a few moments with the Dragonsoul told Sintharia that no matter what she had been able to do in the past, controlling this artefact was far beyond her skills now. She didn't even dare to touch it. So she turned around and fled, to tell the Scourge that they had to evacuate before the cursed thing was able to obliterate Icecrown. If the shard continued to destabilise at the current speed, it was a question of maybe an hour at most and half of that at worst.

Just as she left the chamber, the artefact unleashed a terrifying pulse of magic, a shockwave that shook the very foundations of Icecrown. So much for the optimistic assumption. She had to find Vlad before this entire place went to hell.

* * *

The shockwave hit the fortress and Sartharion stumbled against the next wall. The saronite was melting where his scales touched it, and by the time he was back on his feet, the wall had partially collapsed. The carnage outside made him change targets. With the power from the bloodshed, he should go out there and turn the tide. Going anywhere near the unstable Dragonsoul might cause a catastrophic interference between the artefact and the glyphs. A part of him told that this was simply an excuse to avoid an item he was scared of, but the other parts triumphed and he broke through the wall, spreading his wings to rise again.

Using the seemingly endless supply of magical energy, he connected his mind to those of the Scourge creatures, sheer brute magical force doing the job that normally required careful work. It was not as sophisticated as such a connection should be, but enough to serve its purpose for now. The impressions he got put a screeching hold to his plans of changing the course of the battle. Von Carstein had ordered a general retreat, and although the Scourge ruled the sky, the Alliance had taken most of Icecrown and were supported by even more of the strange outsiders. Naxxramas was a burning wreck scattered over the southern half of the fortress, and the other necropolis was retreating in the distance.

As he focused on the battle, a wave of pain struck him, nearly causing him to fall out of the sky. The magical power was burning through his body, just to much for him to handle. He began to cast more spells, raining down fire at the Alliance troops below. He had to find a way to use this energy before it killed him, and there was one that allowed for a good investment of this power, far better than fighting a battle that was already lost. So he made his way to Acherus, magic accelerating his speed to and entirely unnatural level, but the burning pain, and it grew quicker than he could use the energy that caused it up.

More or less crashing on the landing pad, Sartharion made his way to one of the storage rooms of the necropolis, ignoring how the floor under his claws began to glow red hot. When he reached the room, he was in danger of dying again, the overflow of magic burning his body as if his blood had been replaced with acid. The room was empty save for two small items, and Sartharion channelled all of the magic at his disposal into them. The two scales glowed white after a few moments, but Sartharion kept channelling, and then, the scales began to actively drain power from him, the spirits that had owned them in life desperately grabbing all the magical power they could get, frantically trying to claw their way back into the world,their combined hunger enough to match the constant influx from the battlefield.

Sartharion was vaguely aware that someone was yelling at him, but most of the damage had been done, the extreme transfer of energy pushing him over the edge. Someone healed the glyph-shaped wound in his flesh, but his view was to blurry to make out any details. It had been to much, his body had done so much more than it was supposed to do. Sartharion was already unconscious when he hit the ground.

* * *

The shockwave was bad enough of huge creatures, but for someone smaller, it could be much, much worse. Fordring and Vlad were both thrown around like rag dolls, and Vlad spend the short break in their duel to get a quick view of the situation outside. The retreat seemed to go well, the attacking airships were mostly destroyed and Acherus was at a save distance. However, another group flying creatures came in from the south, and the bloodied Scourge flyers retreated back to the necropolis. Large parts of the garrison's ground forces had left through the northern and western gate, and some even into Azjol-Nerub, while all their mindless troops stayed behind to delay the advance of the Alliance. Deathwing and Vakarthys were still locked in a duel of their own, wrecking everything around them in the process.

There was no more time to think about the battle as Fordring charged again, and as he did, the paladin cast his first spell of their fight, knocking Blood Drinker aside before striking. Vlad threw himself back, but the holy blade smashed into his cuirass, breaking the enchantments of the Plate of the Damned and cutting the saronite plate in two. A spell was the answer, one that sadly hurled Fordring back instead of stripping the flesh from his bones. Whatever might be said about paladins, their defences showed great skill, no doubts about it.

Again, their blades collided, and again none of the two combatants was able to get the advantage. The clash of steel against steel filled the air of a entire minute before both fighters disengaged again. The next time, Vlad was the one to charge. Seeing that his magic was unable to do anything against the hemisphere of golden light that still covered the paladin from the front at the sides. Neither of them had suffered any injuries as of yet, and Vlad had initially hoped that exhaustion would slow his opponent down to the point were the result of this duel was only a question of time, but his enemy was apparently just as immune to this as he was. But how had the old man found his way around the weakness of his flesh? Normal magic could do something like this, but Vlad could not sense any spells of that nature on his foe, and if he had, he would have tried to dispell them the moment Fordring had arrived. Other things could have the same effect, vampirism or possession for example. Yet no paladin would even consider undeath or the loss of his soul, so it had to be something else. Or had it? If the unknown beings who fought alongside the Alliance were the celestials Azarneth and Vakarthys had worried about, could it be that they had abilities similar to those of daemons? If so, the paladin might have allowed one of those creatures to assist, in a way that mirrored the effects of Fordring becoming a daemon host, although the "daemon" was probably a lot friendlier than usual.

"What a turn of events! The righteous defender of all that is supposedly good charges into the villain's lair without his soul! The irony! The radiant hero wishing to vanquish evil sacrificing his soul to a creature that might as well be a daemon! In way, it's heartwarming!" Vlad didn't care that much for the paladin's soul, but he had seen that his backup had quietly entered the room from behind the paladin and so he had to bind Fordring's attention. "How much has your daemon offered you? The strength to strike down all who oppose you and your ideals? A classic, and one you should have known to bring far more than an easy victory. You sold your soul for power, and yet you think you are a paladin!" Vlad smiled sadly. "At least most daemon worshippers are honest about their faith and intentions."

The accusation seemed to do its work as Fordring's face showed even more anger than before. "You, undead monster, accuse me of demon worship? Harsh words coming from a traitor to all that is good! You're a classic too, a scheming, treacherous coward to realizes to late that words won't save his neck!"

Their swords clashed again and Vlad was forced back, unable to match the sheer strength of his opponent.

 _Be ready, just a few more seconds._

During the next series of blows, Vlad made an intentional mistake and as Fordring advanced, he sprung his trap and locked their blades. This would ultimately be bad for him as Fordring would win the pushing match soon, but this time, not soon enough. Vlad's help was only a few steps away, a weapon already risen.

"You know, I think I might defy the classics in a few aspects." Now his smile was real, without any malice. "I found true love in journey to this point, and I learned a lesson you seem to ignore." The paladin rose an eyebrow, and Vlad continued. "Never forget about the power of friendship!"

Fordring looked confused only for a moment, but the moment was enough. Rivendare had come into reach behind him and stabbed Fordring in the left armpit, the runeblade slicing through the chainmail before sinking into his chest The paladin roared in pain and turned around, swinging his own weapon wildly. Rivendare let go of his own and jumped back, and as the paladin took a step forward, Vlad did so too and stabbed him through the neck, as the force shield did not protect him from behind. Fordring sank to his knees, and Vlad ripped Blood Drinker free and followed with a decapitation. The old man's rolled over the floor as another shockwave from the dungeons hit Icecrown.

"Thanks, Titus", Vlad said as they both got back up. "Now run! You can still make it out of here!"

"What about you, sir?"

"I will leave as soon as know my beloved is safe. The creatures outside didn't see her, and I won't leave her behind."

Rivendare could see that arguing here was pointless. "I hope this is not your last meeting. If it is, I want to say it was an honor serving you, sir." He turned and fled after picking up is weapon.

"Farewell, and may the darkness guide you." Then Vlad turned around too, focusing on the magical signature of the ring he had given Sintharia. The signal was relatively clear, as was the fact that Icecrown was dying. The shockwaves from the dungeons got worse, and the time between them shortened. After only a dozen steps he turned into mist to avoid being thrown around a the ground shook or crushed by parts of the building as the fortress began to collapse. Luckily, a cloud of mist was pretty much immune to falling rocks. He did realize that the ruby in his ring was pulsating as the ring interacted in some way with the overwhelming amount of magic. Time would tell whether or not this was a good sign.

They met in one of the larger chambers, although it was already destroyed. Sintharia had protected herself from the falling roof with a magical protective dome, similar to the larger variant used by the Alliance outside. She had transformed into her mortal shape to make the magical shield smaller, as keeping up a shield for her true form would require far more energy than she could muster for any length of time. Vlad's heart froze as he saw that she was trapped here, all corridors leading out of the chamber collapsed. It seemed this was where there journey ended.

"You're alive. I see the plan with the artefact didn't really work?" A silly question, but he had to be absolutely sure.

"It was already far to unstable to be influenced. Did the others get out?"

"I think so. At least none of them are still in this fortress. And to say something pleasant, many of our enemies are stuck here with no way of getting away too."

"You could escape."

"Not without you. I love you, and this means I won't leave you here." Vlad turned solid again and picked a single strand of hair from her head before placing the hair in his pocked dimension. "If I can resurrect after dying today, I promise you a will find a way to bring you back." The ground was now shaking constantly and still got worse, and there was no need to say that the end would arrive soon enough.

"Thanks. I'm just glad to have met you." Sintharia looked around as the temperature in the room began to rise as both the Dragonsoul and the glyphs entered the final stage of disintegration. A last kiss might be a cliché, but this was not the time to care about such nonsense.

* * *

The red flight had arrived too late for most of the battle for Icecrown, finding a partially burning ruin currently in the process of being torn apart. And yet the fighting continued, the remaining mindless undead and at least one rearguard as well as those with no way of escaping still battling the forces of the Alliance. The south western approach was littered with the shattered wrecks of burning airships, while the citadel had been partially crushed and the scattered debris of a fallen necropolis, although the destruction made it impossible to tell which one it had been. While most of the red dragons would have wanted to join the fight against the undead, their duties were elsewhere. Only the fates of Deathwing and the Dragonsoul were truly important here, and the latter one was not hard to see. Every creature with the slightest hint of magical talent and the most basic knowledge of magical items could tell that an extremely powerful artefact was currently in the process of disintegrating in a rather dangerous way, and every being with basic self-preservation instincts felt the urge to run as far from this place as it could.

Deathwing's fate was not so obvious, although it was clear that he had not won his fight, as the Dragonsoul was still here and some of the buildings were still standing. One of the courtyards was covered in even more smoke than the others, and since the mad aspect could not be seen anywhere else, it would be a good point to start the search. Common sense made sure no one really wanted to find Deathwing, but this was a duty that had to be done. Approaching the fortress also revealed another source of uncontrollable magical energy, one that seemed to interfere with the the Dragonsoul in some way, and was also rapidly destabilising. Whatever had happened here had been bad, and all signs pointed towards it getting worse by the minute.

Alexstrasza descended through the black clouds of smoke, flanked by Caelestrasz, Korialstrasz and half a dozen of their best fighters. If Deathwing was here, he would be weakened, and had to be put down swiftly before he could flee or recover. The courtyard below the smoke was in an even worse state than most of the fortress, the walls all around demolished and the ground burned. Two massive forms were already here, and only one of them was moving. Alexstrasza summoned a swift burst of wind to clear the smoke. The hearts of the entire unit skipped a beat when as the scene was fully revealed. Deathwing was lying on the ground, his body covered in at least a dozen wounds that would have killed any normal creature, his neck severed and his head only connected to the rest by a small strain of muscle and scales. The last injury had probably been the fatal one, although it was impossible to tell for sure.

The other creature here was also a red dragon, not to disimilar to the ones who had come here if one overlooked a few details, such as this one being of the same monstrous size as the dead aspect and the sheer evil he radiated. While Deathwing was dead, this one should be, for he had also suffered the most grievious injuries. His right front leg was broken and folded under his belly, serving the dual purpose of keeping the limb out of harms way and preventing his guts from spilling out, as he had been sliced open from the chest down to his stomach area. His left side had taken even more damage, the tips of broken ribs visible through the torn flesh of his flank, the wing broken in four different. The left half of his head was a mangled mess of shattered bone and torn flesh, and in spite of all this, the remaining burning eye stared at the newcomers, and through some dark means, this creature was still breathing.

"It seems you are a little late here." The voice had probably been terrifying, and it still was so to some extent, even though the broken jaw and the blood the speaker coughed up made them difficult to understand. "As you can see, your problem has been taken care of. Now leave before this place becomes your grave as well!"

The unknown dark magic as flowing both in and out of this dragon, and so Alexstrasza was not going to simply leave just because he told her to. "What has happened here? Who are you, and which part does your darkness play here?" Things had be cleared up before they could retreat back to the temple.

"What happened here?" The other dragon laughed, a horrible sound accompanied by more blood from his maw. "Isn't it obvious? He" the dragon pointed at Deathwing's corpse, "tried to mess with me and got what everyone gets for that, although he put up a good fight. This item that suddenly appeared in the dungeons is tearing the whole place apart, and one clever little bastard ruined my plan."

"What plan?"

"To bring my master into this world. Everything went just fine until one little rat had to copy the power generation method. You should thank him, if it were not for him interfering, you would by now kneel before my master."

"So you are just another maniac in service of darkness." Alexstrasza growled and readied her claws, and her entourage followed her example. "I don't know why your kind always sets its sights on Azeroth, but who will not see your triumph."

"I would try killing me if I were you, cutie. You see, all the power meant to bring my master into this world his still here, and glyphs to contain it are broken. My will and my concentration are all that keep said energy under control. If I die", he paused to enjoy the fear showing on the faces of his opponents and coughed up even more blood, "all of it will be unleashed at once, in a catastrophic chain reaction. My mind his a little blurry right now, but I would think that everything within a dozen miles around the citadel will be completely annihilated, and for most creatures or structures, the difference between twelve and twenty miles will be negligible. Given that you won't make it out of here swiftly enough using your wings, I suggest you teleport away right now. Or you use this one." A gesture of his intact wing opened a portal to Dragonblight.

"Why would you be helping us?"

"Well, you're cute and I have nothing else to do. Next stupid question!"

Seeing the obvious danger of staying here, Alexstrasza checked the portal for traps before gesturing for the others to flee through it. Remaining here would mean certain death, after all. She threw him a last glare as she jumped into the portal. An obvious maniac considered her to be cute, of all things? It was both revolting and somehow mildly pleasant.

Vakarthys maintained his concentration for another fifteen minutes before he failed and the cascade of dark magic broke free, incinerating everything in its path. For a short moment, the Icecrown citadel glowed as bright as the sun, and the expanding fireball obliterated the fortress and its surroundings. Scourge and Alliance were indiscriminately devoured by the inferno. Varian Wrynn died with his soldiers, the attempts of his mages to protect them nothing more than a glass window trying to stop a cannonball.

* * *

Acherus had barely escaped the firestorm, but was under a short attack soon afterwards. Deathwing had been more clever than everyone had initially thought and had sent three of his minions to approach from the north, probably to enable them to strike from behind. Confused by their master's end and the blind fury of the old gods, the three twilight dragons descended onto the necropolis, assuming it to be an easy target. All three were knocked senseless and heavily injured before being bound with antimagic shackles and thrown into a dungeon

Nalice, Sabellian and Rivendare assumed command after everyone else had disappeared or was comatose or dead. They set course to the nexus, hoping to be taken in by their allies, but only after picking up several groups of survivors.

* * *

The Sorrowmaker and his minions had ultimately failed, not in an small part due to their infighting, but they had caused massive damage in the process. The Horde was now split between those who embraced Garrosh for his assault on the Scourge, which had left the air fleet in ruin, and those who considered it treason, and while this conflict was currently cold, it might turn to raging fire soon enough. The Alliance had it worse, two of their greatest heroes had died in Icecrown along with a large part of their military might of Stormwind, and the coup by Borgwen was not over yet. Worse still, the rats were still there, and they were frighteningly good a smelling a weakness they would certainly exploit. The Scourge was out of the picture for now, but it could still be reforged into a terrifying weapon, and even without it, there would be no peace.


	28. Final AN

Well, that is it for my very first story. A new, yet very positive experience for me.

First, I would like to thank my friend Kira-Katashi for bringing me into Fanfiction, some help with the story and being a good friend.

My thanks go of course also to all my reader, followers and reviewers. Thank you guys!

So what happens next? I have a few ideas for other stories, the options include Warhammer 40k and Dungeons and Dragons, but I am not sure as of now. Their might be a sequel to this story at some point, but no promises. Anyway, I hope you liked what you read so far and will like what comes next.

Signing off,

Mieper


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